Devolve
by BetteNoire
Summary: The ailing headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, has disappeared right before the Christmas holiday, but the staff doesn't care—because they have been turned into children! Will the teachers return to normal before classes resume? Will Professor Snape be mad, realizing he had Hermione Granger for a nanny?
1. Opportunities

The ailing headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, has disappeared right before the Christmas holiday, but the staff doesn't care—because they have been turned into children! Will the teachers return to normal before classes resume in the new year? Will Professor Snape be mad that Hermione had to watch him during his stint as a six-year-old? Will Madam Hooch succeed in driving Ron and Neville mad? Does Hogwarts even have nappies?

Notes/Warning: AU, since Professor Severus Snape, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, and Nagini are still alive, though Neville maimed her. Everyone else who died in the books stays dead, though.

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CHAPTER ONE—Opportunities

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Gold and violet light fluttered through the mullioned windows of the Hogwarts infirmary, spreading over the white sheets of Headmaster Dumbledore's bed. Black, wrinkled hands sat useless on top of his encyclopedia of snakes. Skin, like burnt paper, crisped on his arms and shoulders whenever he turned the page.

The door at the end of the infirmary squeaked open. Dumbledore, 116-years-old, knew the sound of every door in the castle, except for the doors in the dormitories. The door to his office and bedroom didn't make any noise whatsoever. The doors to the dungeons, soaked with humidity of the underground caverns, expanded and detracted, creating a melodious rainbow of different squeaks. Above ground, the doors creaked. Some doors weren't always around. How many doors had Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore walked through? Ran into? Slammed during his 116 years?

"So many doors," Albus sighed.

"Doors?" The visitor dragged over a chair. The legs against the old stone scraped like the door to the fifth-floor washroom.

Headmaster Dumbledore peered up at his former student. This student had been particularly bright, witty, but he had never taken his NEWTS. Dumbledore had always wondered what score the Weasley twins would have gotten. He and Minerva postured that the late Fred Weasley would have scored higher in Charms and Defense than his twin; George Weasley, the young man sitting before him, excelled in Herbology and Potions. Both jokesters knew the ins and outs of Transfiguration.

Their brilliance and business savvy, coupled with Harry Potter's Triwizard winnings, led to the success of the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes establishment. Curtis Zonko, a personal friend of Dumbledore's, had both admiration and animosity towards the Weasley twins and their success.

"Doors can be misleading," Albus replied. "I recall you had a penchant for hexing Professor Trelawney's door closed."

George grinned as he draped his legs over either side of the chair-back. "It was too easy."

"How have you been, Mr. Weasley?"

"I've been doing my best." He scratched the space where his ear used to be. "Fred and I did the books together, but he was the one discussing sales with contributors. So that's a bit sticky at the moment."

"Your business continues to prosper."

"Thankfully. Your students are our biggest buyers." Mr. Weasley smirked at him, knowing that eighty percent of his products made it through the doors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and that one hundred percent of them were on Filch's infamous list of Banned Objects.

"The student body will be increasing, now that the war is over."

The entrepreneur retained his mischievous, playful air, despite losing his womb-mate. "The increase in post-war babies will help business as well."

"Did you just so happen to be in the neighborhood, Mr. Weasley?" Dumbledore had a teasing edge to his question, to lessen the abruptness.

"Nope. I only came to see you."

"I am flattered."

Mr. Weasley paused. His arms crossed over the back of the chair and his blue eyes observed the cotton sheets tucked under the mattress edge. "Sir…I know that Voldemort's snake…the one that bit Dad, and Snape, is still out there, somewhere." He nodded to the encyclopedia of snakes in the headmaster's lap. "Somebody has to kill it. And I don't think it will be Harry."

The aging wizard remained silent, staring at the purple sky across from him.

"Harry's not a kid with free time to kill Voldemorts anymore—Kingsley is training him to be a politician—a minister, I suppose."

"Mr. Weasley, are you trying to convince me to go snake hunting?" Dumbledore grinned, flexing his papery, crunchy hands. "I am hardly in any state to catch a cold, let alone a snake harboring Tom Riddle's soul."

The red-headed wizard pulled a jar from his dragon-hide jacket. "That's true—but you could be. With this."

Dumbledore eyed the jar, still wary of the Weasley ingenuity. The glass jar was full of gray powder. The particles caught the dying sunlight in their sharp, sparkling edges.

"It hasn't been tested. You would be the first, and only, person to try it."

"You would use me as a guinea pig for a new product?" He looked humored, but George had seen that grin many a time—while sitting before the headmaster for blowing up another lavatory and costing the school money.

"This product will never go on the market, sir." The young man was resolute. "If everyone had the opportunity, they would us it, abuse it." George scooted his chair closer. "I made it to try to heal you, temporarily—so that you can take down Voldemort. I don't want anyone else to have it. I could become fabulously wealthy—but selling this Devolve Dust would be dangerous. Another Dark Lord might pop up. With another snake slithering around the country, biting people."

George's knees were against the mattress. "Please, sir—if you take this, and it works—and it probably will—you won't live forever. Only for a bit longer. Like the Philosopher's Stone, but…healthier."

A bushy, white eyebrow ascended. "Healthier?"

"_So_ much healthier." George shoved the jar into Albus's hand. "According to my calculations, that curse of yours can be gone by Christmas. And we may be able to speed up the process, as long as you're willing to go the Muggle-route."

Albus screwed off the lid. A bit of dust puffed up. "Muggles, eh?"


	2. Plans

A/N: Make sure to check out my tumblr—I'm posting the chapters there, Ashwinder, and DeviantArt.

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CHAPTER TWO—Plans

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At 7:00 AM, before most of the Hogwarts staff had left their respective chambers in search of breakfast, frantic, silver moths flew throughout the halls. The glowing moth knocked off Professor Minerva McGonagall's hat as she strode to the Great Hall. Charms professor Filius Flitwick toppled off his window-sill when the moth appeared in front of his nose.

Pomona Sprout accidentally snipped off a perfect rose bud, frightened by the Patronus. The pale Patronus darted like a meteor through the red haze of the Divination Tower. Sybill Trelawney blinked at the moth, straightening her coke-bottle glasses. Walking towards the castle, Rubeus Hagrid tried to swat the bug away, but his giant hand went through the shimmering mist.

Severus Snape rolled over in bed, attempting to ignore Poppy Pomfrey's glowing Patronus. "Come to the infirmary, now!" the moth yelled in her voice.

"No," he mumbled. The healer always nagged him about getting check-ups, even more so since his unfortunate run-in with a large, venomous snake during the spring.

"It's an emergency! I need to see you all immediately!" the moth proclaimed. Madam Pomfrey's voice sounded panicked.

Severus sat up, tousle-haired and displeased. "Fine." The moth dissolved, leaving the dungeons pitch-black once again. His alarm started ringing—he slammed his hand down on the bells.

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Defense Against the Dark Arts professor Fleur Weasley rushed down the hall. She met Pomona Sprout on her hurried way to the infirmary. "What is ze problem?"

"I haven't the foggiest."

Firenze, the only magical creature professor, clopped up the stairs towards the hospital wing. Rubeus Hagrid lumbered not far behind.

Madam Hooch, interrupted from her morning work-out, jogged past Fleur and Pomona. Aurora Sinistra yawned and magically opened the infirmary door so she could sweep through. Septima Vector and Walter Wrinkle each nursed a cup of coffee as they stumbled into the hospital wing.

The teachers stood yawning as they watched Madam Pomfrey walk back and forth in front of the only drawn curtain in the room. The smell of healing chemicals and salves made Severus's teeth itch—he hated coming to the infirmary.

"What's going on, Poppy?" Minerva asked.

"We have a problem." Poppy did not stop pacing. She was twisting her Healer's apron between her spider-veined hands.

"Obviously," Severus drawled. Aurora snickered. Minerva elbowed the Potions Master in the ribs.

"What's wrong?" Filius asked.

"Is the headmaster aware of this problem?" asked Ancient Runes professor, Walter Wrinkle. He craned his neck to look over Pomona's head.

"The headmaster_ is_ the problem—he's gone!" Poppy ripped back the white curtains. The bed was made, with a brilliant red phoenix sitting atop the crisp sheets. In his beak was a scroll of gold-edged parchment.

Fawkes flapped his wings importantly; his job was to deliver his master's letter to the deputy headmistress. Septima and Sybill coughed and waved away the dust the bird had stirred up. All the other teachers ignored the particles settling on their clothes. Madam Pomfrey's robes repelled the dust assaulting her.

"Did you try to take the scroll away from him?" Severus asked, bored with the conversation that had required him to wake up five minutes earlier than he would have liked.

"He wouldn't let me!" Poppy exclaimed. The phoenix hopped over to Minerva.

The deputy headmistress took the missive and shook it open. She read out loud:

_To my esteemed staff—_

_You are undoubtedly wondering where I have skipped off to. I shan't tell you where, but I shall tell you why—I have recently been persuaded to pursue a new course of treatment for my disfiguring ailment. At present, it appears to be working. More tests and applications must occur before I have definitive proof, however. As this treatment is quite revolutionary, the creator would rather news of it did not get out to the public, lest it fall into the wrong hands. He, or she, shall remain secret, until she, or he, would like to be revealed._

_I am not sure the extent to which tests will be performed; thus, I do not know of my availability until my return—and return I shall, even if this treatment fails and I succumb to Riddle's curse before I can kill his missing Nagini. That is the only reason I wish to postpone death; death is but the next great adventure, but it is an adventure it seems I cannot yet undertake._

_During my absence, Minerva will act as headmistress pro-temp and Filius will aid her. Today is Wednesday—a total of three days remain in this term, all of which are exam days. I doubt my absence will cause much of a stir. I assure you, I have left of my own volition—there is no cause for alarm. I will return before the beginning of next term, at the latest._

_Let's keep this new treatment a secret, shall we?_

_Bon voyage and Happy Christmas,_

_A.D._

_P.S.—_

_Someone will need to feed Fawkes. Help yourself to the lemon drops on my desk as you do so, Minerva!_

Fawkes peered into the stricken faces of the Hogwarts staff. No curtain fluttered, no mouse scurried.

"That buggering old codger!" Rolanda Hooch exclaimed.

Pomona shushed her foul-mouthed friend. Professor Binns floated in the back of the crowd.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose while Minerva crumpled the letter in her hand. "Albus!" she growled.

Filius sighed. "What are we going to do with that man?"

Poppy began pacing again.

"Does 'e do zis sort of zing often?" Fleur, the newest staff member, asked.

"Yes," everyone else replied.

"What do we tell ter students?" Hagrid rumbled from the back of the group.

"We won't tell them at all," Minerva answered. "Albus has disappeared before. The children never ask about the running of the school anyway." The woman straightened her jacket collar. "We will go to breakfast, and act as if nothing is amiss. The children will finish the rest of the week, and go home on Saturday."

The professors muttered and whispered to one another, each wondering what kind of treatment Dumbledore was receiving. Severus Snape and Minerva McGonagall were the last to leave the infirmary.

"Are you able to handle this?" the Potions Master murmured, prying the crinkled letter from her hands.

"We don't have a madman or the ministry invading the school—I think I can handle it, Severus," she replied, her voice tight.

"What if he doesn't return?" He rubbed the grit from the letter between his finger and thumb, scowling at it in distaste. "Bloody bird, probably diseased."

Minerva rolled her eyes. "Fawkes is not diseased. And Albus _will _return."

"He's dying, Minerva—has been since before the war." The two descended the marble staircase. "By all rights, he should already be dead."

"The greatest wizard on Earth cannot just die so easily. It took twenty years to kill Voldemort—it might take twenty decades to kill Albus."

Severus took his turn to roll his eyes. He respected Albus Dumbledore, but knew firsthand the man was not immortal. The teachers entered the Great Hall and dropped the subject.

Breakfast was halfway over by the time all the professors had taken their seats. Severus gave a cursory once-over of the hall—only a scant amount of students were giving the parade of staff members strange looks; know-it-all war-heroine Miss Granger was one of them.

He narrowed his eyes at her; unlike her pre-war self, she did not flinch or look away. She continued to observe the staff members, each in turn, until she was satisfied, or at least, couldn't satisfy her curiosity.

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At the Gryffindor table, Ginny Weasley perused her daily letter from Harry Potter. Next to her, eighth-year Neville Longbottom talked with the redhead across from him.

"I think our team's gonna win this year," Ron said as he swirled his scrambled eggs in syrup.

Neville didn't look convinced. "The Hufflepuffs are doing pretty well."

Hermione Granger sat rubbing her left arm and tuning out the conversation. The ceiling of the Great Hall sprinkled delicate snowflakes that disappeared before they reached even Hagrid's head—but Hagrid was not present. The gamekeeper and Care of Magical Creatures teacher was almost always at breakfast. Normally, Hermione would not think too much of his absence; today, however, none of the teachers were in the hall. Madam Pince and Mr. Filch looked uncomfortable at the table without any teachers for back up. Nearly Headless Nick and the Bloody Baron had noticed—the Baron kept his rowdier Slytherins in line with a silent glare.

"How is Harry?" Hermione asked when Ginny put the letter down.

"He sat in on another boring Wizengamot hearing," Ginny sighed with a roll of her eyes. "For the Malfoys. Draco and his mother are on probation while Mr. Malfoy is under house arrest."

"One of these days he's going to be in charge of the Wizengamot, so he better learn to like it." Hermione tapered off as the doors to the Great Hall opened for the missing teachers.

A few other people besides Hermione noticed, but the chatter did not die down. The teachers looked worried, none as much as Madam Pomfrey, the school Healer.

Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape walked in last, both wearing frowns. Professor McGonagall looked peeved; her companion looked as cold as usual. As the staff took their seats, Hermione observed them all, one by one. Something was wrong.

Professor Snape glared at her—one of his black eyebrows crawled upwards. _He's mad about something,_ she thought. Next to him, Professor Flitwick spread jam on his toast, glancing now and then at the headmaster's empty chair.

"Did you notice that?" Hermione asked.

"Notice what?" Ron asked through a mouthful of bacon.

"Nothing," Hermione said, turning to porridge. She supposed that the headmaster enjoyed disappearing on a whim, even in his dire condition. But if he had taken a turn for the worse, surely Professor McGonagall would have made an announcement about it. Right?

"So what are we all doing for the holiday?" Neville asked. The scent of pine stained the air, though Hagrid had only brought in a few of the twelve, giant Christmas trees.

"Harry and I will be visiting little Teddy," Ginny said.

"Lavender's coming over to the Burrow—aren't you, Lav?" Ron asked as his girlfriend sat down next to him.

She planted a kiss on his cheek. "Yes, for Boxing Day. Are you coming over, too, 'Mione?"

Hermione gave Lavender and Ron a wan grin. "No. I'm staying here, to practice for my Animagus exam."

"You mean you haven't already turned into fifteen different animals by now?" Lavender joked.

Hermione was about to tell her that such a feat was impossible, but Ginny cut her off.

"You have to come to the Burrow, 'Mione!" The younger witch leaned across the table. "It's Christmas! You can't be stuck here during Christmas!"

"I'd rather get my Transfiguration training out of the way as quickly as possible," Hermione explained. She could tell Ron was not buying her lie, so she didn't look in his direction.

Professor McGonagall stood up at the high table. The hall turned quiet. "The practical portion of the Care of Magical Creatures exam will begin in fifteen minutes. All of the students enrolled in that class are to head out to the Quidditch pitch, now."

Neville, Ginny, and Lavender stood up from the table along with a majority of the other students, heading outside or to the library for more revision.

Hermione was left twiddling her fork while Ron stared at her.

"'Mione…"

She faced him. "I want to stay here for Christmas, Ron."

"I don't think you should be alone, Hermione."

"Maybe I want to be alone," she said to the edge of the table.

Ron put his hand on her shoulder as the other Gryffindors shuffled out of the hall. "Your parents would not want you to be alone on Christmas. Even last year you weren't alone."

"Last year, Harry and I almost had our heads bitten off by a snake."

Ron crossed his arms. Dennis Creevey hustled past them, cramming a final piece of toast in his mouth. "'Mione, we're your family too. Come spend Christmas with us."

"I _know_ I would just ruin the fun."

"Hermione—"

"No, Ron, I know it. Please, I'll be fine. I just…" She stirred her lumpy porridge around, scraping the sticky residue off on the edge of the bowl. "I need time to be alone."

The youngest Weasley boy looked at her for a long time, frowning. "'Mione, I really think being alone is the _opposite_ of what you need."

Hermione couldn't formulate an answer. "You're going to be late for your exam," she said to her porridge.

Ron crossed his arms. "Is it because…of me and Lavender?"

During the "Final Battle," Hermione had finally gotten a kiss from Ron. Adrenaline and fear pumping through her veins, Hermione felt dizzy under Ron's lips. He was so tall, and funny—he had come back to help them. The Deluminator had called, in her voice, to his heart.

But it didn't work out. Ron was great—caring and sweet. But Hermione's distance frustrated him to no end. He wanted her to open up. But she couldn't. Harry had destroyed Voldemort's body eight months ago, in May. Hermione had only cried twice since then. She had cried at Fred Weasley's funeral, and didn't stop until Remus Lupin's funeral the next day.

"No, Ron, I promise." Hermione put down her spoon. She knew she didn't love Ron romantically, no matter how much she wanted to. They had only dated until the end of June.

Ron hugged her. Hermione was not expecting it, and leaned towards the left under his weight. "We'll talk about this later," he said as he got up from the bench.

Hermione kept her eyes down. The last time Hermione had cried, she had returned, alone, to her empty home after a long two weeks in Australia.

Miss Granger hadn't cried for months. At this moment, she wished she could.


	3. Remembering

**A/N:** Severus is reading _The Ballad of the Sad Café _by Carson McCullers. I have no rights over _the Ballad _or _Harry Potter_.

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CHAPTER THREE—Remembering

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All of Hermione's friends were taking their Care of Magical Creatures exam, so she took a spot on the grand staircase and opened her Potions textbook. She had little more than an hour before Professor Snape's exam would start. Brewing anything from _Advanced Potions Making_ would be easy, but Hermione J. Granger was thorough, and studied before every exam.

But today, as she reread the instructions for the Anti-Flame Potion, her mind began to wander. When left time in a quiet space, Hermione always remembered awful things. Fenrir Greyback sniffing her neck; Bellatrix Lestrange's shattering laughter; Professor Snape soaking in blood. After breaking out of Gringotts, those many months ago, things began to unravel so quickly. The "Final Battle" started not even twenty-four hours after stealing the Sword of Gryffindor. Hermione dwelt on those few days much too often.

Copper and iron and dust—that's what the Shrieking Shack smelled like. Hermione remembered the room, the spider webs, the muffled quiet. Vividly. Voldemort's bare feet had smudged clean spots on the dusty floor. The snake had left polished trails.

Hermione had never seen the bottom of Professor Snape's shoes before, until that day; they were smeared with mud and dirt. Interpreting the mud Rorschach on his soles was easier than looking into his black eyes as he died. The gurgling coming from his throat paralyzed Hermione. She hovered at Ron's shoulder as Harry ventured closer. The tangy scent of blood increased in intensity every few seconds. She didn't want to stay and watch the professor die, even if he was the bastard Death Eater Mad-Eye had always claimed.

"_Look at me."_

Hermione did as he said. The professor was staring into Harry's eyes—and he looked so, so sad. A _sad_ Death Eater? The mists of his memories began wisping from his eyes. Harry demanded a flask and Hermione provided, watching Professor Snape's chest twitch the entire time she fished in her bag.

"_You have your mother's eyes."_

Professor Snape wanted his last words to be a compliment? Unlikely. The professor was maddeningly succinct most of the time. Why would he start pouring out niceties, now of all times? Ron pulled Hermione back to his side. Only Harry, the Boy Who Lived, would get close enough to collect the memories of a domestic terrorist. The palm-sized vial was filled, and Harry dashed off to the headmaster's office. Hermione and Ron followed, but only the Weasley made it into the hallway.

Hermione caught herself on the doorjamb. She had fixed Harry when he had been attacked by Nagini, and still had some dittany left over. As Ron loped out of the Shack, the professor slid further down the wall, his head bumping to his chest. His thin legs stuck out from his body, his billowy robes all around him.

_Oh, bugger, _she had thought.

Chapping her bottom lip with her teeth, Hermione knelt down. She felt hot blood seeping into her frayed jeans and jerked her knee out of the red puddle. Blood was everywhere; splashed on the wall, speckled on his chin, sucked into his heavy black robes. Was that blood on his mouth? Hermione gagged at the rotten copper aroma. The Summoned dittany shook in her hand. She didn't want to touch him or the coagulating globs hanging onto the ragged fragments of his throat.

The witch had to suck in air through her mouth—she could almost taste the venom pooling on the floor. She recalled the sterilized air of the infirmary as she watched Professor Snape convulse. The professor that glided down the halls, dictated at the front class, healed her chest was now weak. He was about to die.

She had to do it; she had to help him.

Before the dittany had finished sizzling the wound back together, Hermione began to wind the gauze around the headmaster's neck. She sat back on her knees, avoiding all eye-contact (not that there could be any, since the professor had fainted from lack of blood). Had she done enough? Why had she done anything at all? This bastard had run Dumbledore out, added in some Carrows to torture the students, and served as Voldemort's puppet. So what if he had made all the potions to counteract Dolohov's curse—he was a Potions Master, that was his job—his legitimate job, not the one requiring white masks and Killing Curses.

"_Hermione!"_

She jumped and ended up pointing her wand at Ron. He clutched the doorframe, panting, coated in soot and sweat. _"Leave the git to die before we get killed ourselves!"_ Conceding that nothing more could be done, she followed Ron back to the battle.

Even now, she wasn't entirely sure why she decided to try to save him. Once Harry had let it slip that Professor Snape was a brave spy who was in love with Lily Potter, she was glad she had done so. He deserved some bloody recognition after all he had been through! And after they had all doubted him! Even she had doubted him, and she was ashamed—"brightest witch of her age" indeed. Hermione sighed as she turned the page. She had reached the last line of the Anti-Flame Potion, but had been so busy recollecting that she didn't remember reading the rest of it.

This exam was going to be rather difficult, if she couldn't stay focused. Revising Metal Purifiers would not hold her interest, no matter how hard she tried. Professor Snape and love—that was a subject worth some thought. Professor Snape had been in love with a woman so deeply he protected her son from the vilest wizard in recent history. Professor Snape had protected the legacy of the man that had stolen away his only love. Suffice to say, Hermione, and most of the wizarding world, had been shocked when they found out. Hermione thought it was beautiful, if not a little tragic. Okay, extremely tragic.

Even before she found out about the professor's unrequited ardor, Hermione had wondered what it would be like to have the strongest, meanest, scariest teacher in Hogwarts fall hopelessly in love with her. Ever since her fifth year she had spent hours fantasizing about how it would feel, how he would act. He would be cruel in public but sweet and gentle at night, caressing her face and letting her fall asleep in his lap.

Perhaps he would refuse to let her speak until after he had taken her body, backed her against a door as his hands stripped off her clothes. As she wrapped her legs around his waist, and threw her head back, he would murmur her name, her real name, not "know-it-all" or "Miss Granger." Even though, sometimes, she thought it might be sexy if he called her "Miss Granger" while he took her on the floor of the Potions classroom.

Hermione looked up from her book. Sometimes she used to wonder if falling in love with anybody would make him less of a berk. Maybe his cold, black eyes would thaw, or his stern brow would relax. That would be good for him, Hermione thought. He would lecture in class, then see her sitting in the back row. He might even smile at her, when no one was looking, if he fell in love with her.

But then she found out about Lily Potter. He had been in love with her for all those years, and it had turned him into a cruel, isolated man. Love hadn't made him happy, but tortured him.

Hermione's brown eyes focused on a dark figure entering the hall from the dungeons. The man currently occupying her thoughts crossed the flagstones to reach the doors of the Great Hall. He had a book under his arm. Even when he was alone he was scowling. It was terrifying to think that love had ruined him so, could make a person such a grotesque.

The professor disappeared into the Great Hall, presumably to set up the room for the Potions exam. The new examination policy was one Ministry decree Hermione agreed with. During the war, no Muggle-born wizards had been contacted about Hogwarts, or told they had magical powers. Some Muggle-born students had been too terrified to return, and even some half-bloods. Several students, like young Colin Creevey, had died in the battle. The Ministry now required exams in the middle and end of the school year to establish a base-line and hopefully show improvement in the time of rebuilding.

Hermione thought it was a good idea, but if she were in charge, she would monitor more than just test scores. Inter-house unity would be hard to quantify, but it could be observed. House points and over-all mood of the school should be important as well. Perhaps counseling services should be offered, more than just pre-OWLs career guidance.

Students began trickling in to the Entrance Hall from the Quidditch pitch, or from their dormitories. The Potions exam would begin soon. Hermione watched her younger classmates loiter from her spot on the stairs. This would be the first year Hermione didn't have to worry about Harry being killed by Voldemort. No basilisks or tournaments. Harry wasn't even an Auror—he was Minister Shacklebolt's assistant, at the time being. All Hermione had to worry about was NEWTs and finishing her Transfiguration apprenticeship. It was going to be a good year, a normal year.

The eighth-year gathered her notes and books before she stood up. Now was not the time to ponder Ministry initiatives—now was the time to take the Potions exam. And, hopefully, she wouldn't ponder Professor Snape, either.

When she entered the Great Hall, Professor Snape was perched on the dais, thumbing through his book. Hermione knew the professor was intelligent, and it followed that he was well-read. But the Gryffindor had never seen him reading in public before this term.

Ron and Lavender joined her in the back row as she sat down. "'Mione, Lavender doesn't know all the ingredients in the Wolfsbane Potion—do you know what they are?

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Severus Snape, former headmaster of Hogwarts, stood at the front of the Great Hall. To break his habit of secretly observing his students walk in, he had taken to reading a book any time he had a spare moment. It was hard breaking a 20-year-old practice, though. Sometimes his eyes strained in an attempt not to peek up through his lanky hair.

Every few lines, he had to remind himself to keep looking down instead of spying. The Dark Lord had been destroyed by Harry Potter, again. Nagini was the only fragment of the Dark Lord remaining—Severus didn't have to spy anymore.

The professor cleared his throat. As his Adam's apple bobbed, he could feel his scar tissue straining. He had foisted Dumbledore out of the school, becoming the most hated headmaster in the past three centuries. He had allowed the Carrows to use the schoolchildren for target practice, denied magical education to the Muggle-born. He had acted as the Dark Lord's lapdog. The man could risk his life on a daily basis, betraying the Dark Lord, because he did not value it—he had wanted to die, every day since the death of Lily. He deserved death, more than Lily had. Sprawled out on the floor of the Shrieking Shack was not an entirely dignified way to die; nonetheless, Severus had welcomed the searing pain, the clamp of jaws arund his throat. He had protected Lily's son completely. He would no longer have to look at Lily's eyes surrounded by Potter's face.

Severus stopped reading. He stared at the page number printed in the corner of _The Ballad of the Sad Café._ Thinking about Lily was painful, and not to be done as children filed into the room. It wouldn't do for them to see him become disheveled. The fifth-years, most likely to cheat in their worry over OWLs, filled the front rows to Snape's right and the first-years sat on his left. Three eighth-years took tables in the back row.

Granger was busy gesticulating at Weasley. No doubt she was explaining something. On the boy's other side, his girlfriend was frowning—by the bounce of her shoulder, Severus assumed she was tapping her foot. Miss Brown was smart, but damn if Severus didn't find her annoying, especially when Weasley was concerned.

Severus marked his place before he set his book on the dais beside him. Lifting his wand, he cast the doors shut. The definitive slam rumbled through the students, quieting them in a wave starting at the back of the room. They all turned to him. Professor Snape locked a sigh in his lungs by lifting his chin and setting his jaw. Having this many students brewing at once was one of the most dangerous things he could imagine—in fact, during his first year of teaching, this was a recurring nightmare. What dunderheads had been hired to reform Hogwarts? _Obviously no one who has ever taught here, _he half-sneered in his head.

"The results of this exam will factor into your final grade," he said, just loud enough. "You have two hours." Papers shimmered, appearing on each desk. Older students immediately flipped their papers over. The first- and second-years needed a stern eyebrow lift from the professor. "Cheating would be unadvisable." As Severus returned to his book, the little ones scrambled to begin on the instructions. None of them would cheat this early. He figured he could read about four or five more pages before he ought to start prowling between the rows.

* * *

Metal Purifiers—Hermione cursed her luck. If only she had read three more pages, she would be able to recall every word to the instructions for purifying silver. Since she had dallied, almost mooning over the Potions professor, she could only remember four-fifths of every word (still enough to achieve the highest score possible).

Busy checking the thermometer, stirring the mix, dicing Monarch butterflies, and waving away steam, Hermione had no time to think of the Potions Master, not even when he prowled behind the back row.

* * *

He couldn't do it; he couldn't bear to sit idle, reading, with so many people in the room. Especially people wielding wands to start fires and tossing in chemicals they thought would improve their potions. So, he began pacing between the rows.

Severus remembered the name of every fifth- through seventh-year student in Hogwarts, regardless of House affiliation. What the first-years didn't know was he didn't learn all of their names until the end of the year—there were just too many children to remember. Not to mention all the other things he had to keep in his mind (which Death Eater had killed which bureaucrat, when the Dark Lord had been displeased, had Albus changed the password again, etc.). And sometimes, the second-years all looked alike when they returned after holiday.

Trouble-makers, yes, he learned their names the quickest. Crossing to the next row, Severus passed behind two of the most recognizable trouble-makers Hogwarts had ever created: Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger.

The wizard had improved in Potions making, largely in part to his newfound maturity. The witch remained the top of her class, brewing at a professional level since her fourth-year. Miss Granger should be his favorite student—intelligent, hardworking, steadfast, driven—but he very nearly despised her.

He had been apathetic to her existence at one point. She irked him, occasionally, with her hand-waving and high concentrations of eagerness. But then she had inserted herself into his life, just as it was ending. He had waited almost twenty years for death. The pretentious child had stopped him just as he was about to reach his goal. She had blocked him from repaying Lily.

Striding behind Granger and her perfect potion, Severus felt his snake bite through his collar. Severus had always had a lifetime of anger sitting in his bone marrow. Keeping a lid on it while teaching lackadaisical teenagers the dangers of Potions or of Defense Against the Dark Arts—when they clearly didn't care if they learned or not—had been possible only due to his calming Occlumency.

Finding himself alive two weeks after the "Final Battle" caused his rage to implode into a tiny ball, then expand out until he was screaming at Granger for her idiocy. He had screamed for so long that blood mixed with his spittle.

Sometimes the memory of her shocked face added to the anger he harbored. The girl could not fathom that she had done something wrong. Other times, he was embarrassed. Was he so easily controlled by his emotions?

Clinking vials and panicking third-years did not distract Severus from his brooding. Yelling at Miss Granger had served no purpose. He should have continued to ignore her, and lived the rest of his insufferable life in silence, as he had done for many years. Tearing her down, showing Miss Granger in the loudest, vilest terms possible that she had been mistaken had been a liberating experience. The professor had not just been yelling at Miss Granger—he had been yelling at every person that had interfered in his life. At every person that had imposed their will over his own.

The bookmark on page 72 of _the Ballad_ didn't even flutter when Severus walked by the dais. With one glance, he could see the bushy hair of his "savior." Involuntarily his lips thinned. Whether from anger at her, or himself, it didn't matter. He was angry either way.

* * *

**A/N: So, this chapter is pretty long and it travels from point to point pretty quick. I hope nobody got whiplash. It took a long time to write. –BetteNoire**


	4. Small Problems

A/N: Walter Wrinkle is not a canon character; I have never been able to find a name for the Ancient Runes professor, so I made him up for my last fanfiction, "Almost." He makes another appearance here. I think his name sounds pretty Rowling-esque. :)

* * *

CHAPTER FOUR—Small Problems

.

Walter Wrinkle woke up on the Thursday of exam week, and instead of feeling exhausted, he had never felt better. In fact, he felt twenty years younger. The octogenarian got out of bed with ease. The cold air had been freezing his joints since November, but today, he felt golden. He stretched his arms and heard nary a pop in his shoulders. The man smiled, hoping this meant the day would be a good one.

Piles of books and replicas of artifacts had to be dodged as Wrinkle made his way to the wash room. Hot water sprayed from the tap when Walter stepped across the threshold. Having seen his sleep-tousled face for almost nine decades, Walter barely glanced at the mirror on his way to the bath tub.

Stripped down to his skivvies, Walter backed up until he was once again in front of the looking glass.

"Bloody hell!"

Instead of the 87 years' worth of wrinkles, Walter was gawking at his 40-year-old self.

* * *

Filius Flitwick sat at the head table, wondering where all the other professors were. He was not often the first teacher to make it to the Great Hall—Hooch got up at 5:00 every morning to exercise, and the only other person to ever arrive before her was Professor Vector. Septima had coffee instead of blood in her arteries. As it was, Filius bypassed curious and went straight to concern.

Children were chattering, studying for their exams, or discussing their Christmas shopping. The door to the Great Hall opened to admit Professor Hagrid. A minute later, Professor Weasley entered. Argus, then Irma, trotted in soon after.

"Mornin', Filius," Hagrid greeted. "Where're the other professors?" The chair creaked under Hagrid's girth.

"I don't know," he said. Professor Weasley sat on Filius's other side. The three teachers chewed their omelets and kippers, trading awkward glances when the post owls delivered _Daily Prophets_ to empty staff chairs. Filch and Madam Pince shrugged at them.

Snow sprinkled from the enchanted ceiling. Fleur tapped her fork against the edge of her china plate. She leaned towards Filius. "Is zere a meeting we do not know about? I cannot imagine we all forgot."

The half-goblin pushed his spectacles higher up his long nose. "I suppose we can peek in the staff room, just to be sure."

Fleur and Filius were halfway down the dais before Hagrid realized he should tag-along. He took one more swig of pumpkin juice before lumbering to his boat-sized feet. The gamekeeper passed all four of the school's eighth-years as he made his way to the door. "Mornin', 'Mione, Ron." He nodded to Neville and Lavender, not as familiar with them as he was with the other two. Hagrid gave a wide smile to Ginny, the future Mrs. Potter.

Ron and Hermione watched the professors walk out the door. "Do they ever eat breakfast?" Ron asked. The idea horrified him. Breakfast was his favorite meal of the day. Actually, he liked all the meals equally.

Lavender tugged her boyfriend to his seat, away from Hermione. "Should we study Herbology some more?"

Ron groaned.

Hermione waved at Luna Lovegood. The Head Girl sat at the Ravenclaw table, surrounded by firsties. Butterbeer corks flashed around her neck as she waved back. Normally she would sit with her Gryffindor friends, but the younger Ravenclaw's had begged for her help. She was the most qualified DADA tutor Ravenclaw had.

Ginny and Neville left a space between for Hermione.

"Why do we need to study when the Herbology assistant is right here?" Ginny teased with a mischievous Weasley grin.

"Because the Herbology assistant has never cheated a day in his life," Ron drawled while doling syrup over everything on his plate.

"Gran would kill me if she ever found out I cheated," Neville mock-shuddered. The young man could stab an eye out of Nagini, but he could barely stand to _imagine_ the wrath of his grandmother.

* * *

Fleur led the way up the marble staircase. Filius hopped from stair to stair and Hagrid followed. The staff room was empty. The three were puzzled.

"Wha' abou' Professor McGonagall?" Hagrid asked.

"Maybe Albus 'as returned?" Fleur looked hopeful, but not overly-so. "And zey are all in 'is office?"

Filius was quickly becoming frustrated. Why wouldn't they let him know that Albus had returned? He was just as curious as the rest of them whether the mystery treatment worked. While fuming, he, Hagrid, and Fleur trotted towards the headmaster's office.

Nearly Headless Nick floated by, nodding to Fleur and humming Christmas carols. Cold drafts found crevices and cracked windows. Old stone and new sat side by side in the walls, leftovers of the Final Battle.

"Look—" The young DADA teacher pointed to a statue with someone lurking behind it. "Is zat Walter?"

"Walter?"

"Oh, thank Merlin," young Walter said, peering over the shoulder of Helga Hufflepuff's statue.

"Walter?" Hagrid looked gob-smacked. "Wha's happened ter yeh?"

"I don't know!" He stepped out into the hall. Fleur covered her mouth. Walter Wrinkle—a man older than her father—had blonde hair. The hardly noticeable stoop of arthritis was gone, as was the aged rasp to his voice.

"You—you're—are you—Walter?" Filius stumbled forward, staring at his youthful colleague.

"I woke up and found myself 40-years-old again!"

"'Ow can zis be? 'Ave you been cursed?" Fleur, Hagrid, and Flitwick ogled and prodded at Wrinkle.

"I don't think so!"

"Let's take 'im ter Poppy," Hagrid said. "She'll know what ter do."

* * *

Amid the white tile, white sheets, and white curtains, the matron was gaping. "Walter?"

"Poppy." Professor Wrinkle straightened his tie.

"You're—young?"

He cleared his throat. "Yes, I suppose I am."

"Oh dear." Poppy circled him. "I suppose we need to rule out curses, hexes, jinxes, and spells—toxins and poisons as well."

Hagrid gaped as Madam Pomfrey waved her wand before Walter's chest and face.

"Perhaps we should get Severus?" Filius asked, twiddling the end of his mustache between his fingers.

No signs of foreign magic were revealed in Walter's body. Poppy's lips pinched. The witch grasped Walter by the arm and marched him towards the dungeons. She said, "Fleur, you go find Minerva and bring her to Severus's office. Rubeus, you go find Septima. Filius, go find Pomona."

Everyone separated.

"What do you think is wrong with me?" Walter asked, eyes darting from side to side. The Fat Friar emerged from a wall, making Walter flinch. The ghost gave Poppy and her companion a strange look as he floated by.

"Without tests, I can't be sure. Severus would be the best one to talk to—there is obviously some foul play at hand."

"I can't imagine there'd be any need for foul play, now that the war is over."

Poppy and Walter made quick work of the dungeon corridor. They knocked on Severus's door. He didn't answer.

"Severus?" Poppy called.

"How can he hear you through all this stone? His rooms are all the way in the back, aren't they?"

"Oh dear." Poppy pulled out her wand.

Walter pushed her hand down. "Are you mad, Poppy? There's no way you can dismantle Severus's wards—who knows what will happen if you try?"

"Right, right—we'll just have to keep knocking until he answers."

Hurried footsteps reverberated against the corridor stone. "Poppy!" Fleur hissed from the other end of the hall. "Poppy! Walter!"

The French woman hurried down the hallway, dragging someone along behind her.

"Why did you bring a student with you?" Poppy reproved, shielding Walter from view.

"Wait—who is that?" Walter asked. He had never seen this ebony-haired student before. Yet she looked familiar.

"Zis is _Minerva McGonagall_!"

Poppy and Walter gaped. Minerva pulled a thick lock of hair in front of her face, shy.

The floor vibrated in a pounding rhythm. Hagrid rushed down the hall, holding something in his arms.

"Where is Septima?" Poppy demanded, while Walter stared at little Minerva.

Hagrid flung out his arms to show them something—a little giggling girl, with curly brown hair.

"Again, again!" Glasses dangled off the end of her nose.

"Septima?" Walter felt nauseous.

Someone behind Hagrid's massive form cleared their throat. Hagrid stepped out of the way.

Filius Flitwick was holding the hand of a pudgy, brown-haired, eleven-year-old. "Tell them your name, sweet," he said.

"P-Pomona Sprout." The girl's eyes darted from teacher to teacher. "Where am-m I?"

"Merlin." Poppy covered her mouth, staring at the three small children. None of them looked old enough to attend Hogwarts.

Fleur looked at the closed door. "Do you zink Snape is also a child?"

"What about everyone else?" Walter clutched his stomach.

"Filius—you break down this door!" Poppy said. "The rest of us will go find the others!" The healer began to flee before she had finished her order.

Filius grabbed Fleur's hand before she could search for Trelawney. "Go to the Great Hall and tell them to remain there for a bit longer, studying—the tests will have to resume later in the day," Filius ordered. "Bring the eighth-years back with you."

Professor Weasley rushed up the damp, dungeon corridor. Several children were leaving the Great Hall when she arrived.

"Non, non, go back inside to breakfast," she said, shepherding them back into the room. "Ze exams won't be starting for a while yet—use ze time to study, oui?"

"But, Professor Weasley, why aren't the exams—"

"A Christmas present," she replied, looking around the hall, craning her neck in search of Ron and Hermione.

* * *

Filius swished and flicked his wand, peeling Severus's wards and defensive perimeters down one at a time. Sweat beaded under his goatee and his bushy, white eyebrows.

Little Minerva, cherub-Pomona, and tiny Septima stood watching, mouths open in awe, eyes wider than galleons.

"What is you doinggg?" Septima asked. Her small hand grasped the back of Filius's brown robe.

"I am trying to take the magic off of this door," he replied. It was odd, speaking to someone as tall as he was.

* * *

Fleur rushed down the Gryffindor table. She pulled Ron to his feet and gestured towards Neville. Lavender hopped up, wanting to go wherever Ronniekins went. To Hermione, Fleur said, "You four, come with me."

Ginny half-rose from the table. "What's wrong?"

Hermione and Neville wondered the same thing. Ron dragged Lavender with him, and the four rushed along at Fleur's side. Luna noticed the commotion and begged leave from her mentees. She met her friends at the door, looking politely confused. Fleur kept her lips in a tight line. She looked at the high table—no one was there. Irma and Argus had already left.

"What's wrong?" Hermione pushed.

The professor signaled to the Head Boy from the Hufflepuff table. When he stood before her, she said, "Do not let any of ze children leave ze Great 'All until I come back. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, nodding.

"You stand right 'ere," she pointed at the space by her feet, in front of the tall doors. "No one is to leave, not even for ze restroom."

"Yes, ma'am."

Fleur turned on her heel. Ginny and Luna traded looks and decided to follow without being asked.

Everyone in the Hall began muttering, wondering why the war-heroes were called away and tests were postponed. Voldemort had only been gone for a few months—was he already back?

"Fleur, what is wrong?" Ginny asked once the doors were shut behind them.

The part-veela shook her blonde head. "Come with me and you will see." She cut a brisk pace down the corridor, to the dungeons.

"Is it Snape?" Ron asked in the Entrance Hall. "His snake bite?" There would be no other reason to go to the dungeons in such a rush.

* * *

The door to the Potions Master's office swung open. Filius panted as he stowed away his wand. The three curious witches stuck their heads around the door. Hagrid returned with another little girl, a confused looking Madam Pince, and a shifty-eyed Argus Filch.

The yellow-eyed girl was wiggling in Hagrid's arms, trying to look at everyone around her. "Who're you? Why is he so tall?" she demanded, pointing up at half-giant Hagrid. "Why're you so short?"

Filius was taken aback. "And who might you be?"

"I'm Rolanda Germaine Hooch," she declared, sticking her thumb proudly in her chest. "Who're all of you?"

"Don't you dare faint, Argus!" Poppy called from the end of the hall, seeing the janitor swaying on his feet. The man was a squib and easily scared by magic that went wrong. Poppy was carrying an infant in her arms.

"Who is that?" Filius asked. He felt like fainting himself. The baby was so small.

"I found her in the Divination Tower." The matron was frowning. "I think this must be Sybill."

"Baby, baby!" child-Minerva sang, throwing up her arms. She began to skip a circle around Poppy. "Minnie loves babies, babies are so precious, baby, baby, bay-beeee!"

"Minerva?" Irma put her hand above her heart. Her face was turning a pasty, gray color. The deputy headmistress was skipping and singing.

"Yes, ma'am?" Minerva asked. Minerva had always been the tallest woman teaching at Hogwarts—now, she was peering up at Poppy.

The clip-clopping of hooves sounded down the hall. Firenze and Professor Binns, joined the queue.

"Why are we all in front of the Potions Master's chambers?" Firenze asked. His sparkling eyes gazed at the small children staring at his horse-legs.

"Pony!" Pomona and Rolanda yelled at once. They traded glances then collapsed into a fit of giggles. The centaur gave them a warm gaze.

"These are not children," Firenze declared, sage-like.

"I've got another!" Walter said, coming up from the back.

Argus stumbled away, feeling his old knees give out. A man who could be Walter's younger brother walked up, holding a baby.

"Aurora," Walter said, grim, to Filius and Poppy.

"Everyone, into Severus's office," Poppy ordered, shuffling all the children inside.

"Eeeeew, look at all the dead frogs!" Pomona squealed.

"Eeeeeeeeeew!" Rolanda yelled.

Filius led them all to the sitting room and sat the little girls down on the coffee table.

"Where is Snape?" Filch asked. Hagrid sat down. The two infants were transferred into his sizeable, fur-coated lap.

Walter ventured, careful and wary, towards the closed bedroom door. If he barged in on a sleeping Severus, Walter could be hexed across the room. His body was young, but still quite fragile. Walter had never known Severus to be a morning person. The adult staff members watched Walter with trepidation, as he grasped the cold door handle. Hagrid bounced the babies on his knees. Minerva played with her hair. Pomona and Septima made odd faces at one another and hid their giggles behind their hands. Rolanda pushed all the glossy _Potions Weekly_s around on the coffee table.

Walter took a deep breath, and pushed the bedroom door open a crack. Nothing happened, except for a shrill squeak of the hinges. He stepped into the room, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. He signaled for Poppy, Irma, and Argus to come in.

Curled up in the middle of the bed, slept a six-year-old Severus Snape, his small frame dwarfed in a giant pair of black sleeping-trousers and a night-shirt.

* * *

"It is everyone," Fleur explained, leading the handful of students towards the dungeons. The door to Snape's chambers was left open. The group walked through.

"Where is Professor Snape?" Hermione asked Professor Flitwick, confused, once they gained the sitting room.

"Over there." Filius nodded towards the hearth, his brows twisted, anxious.

The six students turned around. Hermione gasped.

Hagrid had two babies on his lap, one wrapped in a gauzy, orange head-scarf, like the one Trelawney always wore. The other was wrapped in Professor Sinistra's spangled shawl. On the coffee table sat three little girls and a small boy.

Filch stood back in the corner, twisting his ugly hands and chewing on his bottom lip. Madam Pince sat on the couch, waving her hand in front of her sweating, worried face. Firenze stood at the bookshelf, looking at the numerous tomes with fascination.

"Bloody he—"

Ginny slapped her hand over Ron's mouth.

"What is going on here?" Lavender's voice hit shrill pitches.

The small children were beginning to get antsy under the intense scrutiny of every tall-person in the room. The boy shoved his hands under his legs and one girl adjusted her glasses.

"Is—is that Professor—" Hermione was the level-headed intellectual of the Golden Trio, but she was lacking words at the moment. "Are those our professors?" she hissed to Madam Pomfrey.

The old woman nodded.

Luna pulled on her Butterbeer corks. "How interesting."

Fleur shut the door. "I 'ave told ze 'Ead Boy to keep ze students in ze Great 'All. 'Oo will run ze examinations?"

"Who are we going to get to watch these children?" Lavender demanded.

"Calm down, Lav," Ron said.

"That's why we brought you all here," Filius said. "Minerva was left in charge, but now it looks like it's going to be me. We'll need someone to watch them."

Tiny Minerva gave Flitwick a strange look. Apparently, someone had the same name as her. Eavesdropping closely, she continued to wrap her long black hair around her neck like a scarf. Rolanda looked outright suspicious, narrowing her eyes at everyone. Firenze attempted to rub warmth back into his bare arms.

"You want _us _to watch them?" Neville asked. He looked as if Filius had asked him to go head-to-head with Nagini for a second round.

"We have ter watch all the other kids," Hagrid said.

"Who is going to watch them?" Filch asked. When Filius turned to the students, the custodian became flustered and indignant. "You can't leave the professors with their students! Especially Snape! Who knows what they'll do to 'im!"

Tiny Severus pulled his knees up to his chest. His frightened eyes darted around the room. Apparently, these people were going to hurt him.

Hermione felt personally affronted on the Potion Master's behalf. "No one is going to hurt a hair on Prof—his head!" she lowered her voice so the children couldn't hear. "He's a war hero and our teacher! No one's going to let _any_ of them get hurt!"

Luna and Ginny nodded. Ron didn't look like he agreed with Hermione—he never forgot the time Professor Snape made him scrub bedpans without magic—but he shoved his hands in his pockets instead of saying anything.

"Who is that?" Lavender asked, pointing at one of the babies.

Poppy replied, "Sybill and Aurora." They were swinging their tiny feet and cooing. Hagrid poked their tiny tummies.

As the adults started squabbling, Pomona tried to squeeze herself into a little ball. Severus rolled up the bottoms of his trousers so he wouldn't trip. He repeated the process on the sleeves of his too-long shirt. But he kept his eyes up on all the adults. Hermione saw the edge of his snake bite peeking out of his collar. Looking at the newly-adorable teachers was preferable to hearing Madam Pince bark at Professor Flitwick to "do something about this."

Suddenly, a sharp, girly voice yelled, "He's been writing on his arms!" Madam Hooch was pointing at Professor Snape's left arm—his Dark Mark.

Everyone turned wide eyes to the children on the coffee table. Ron slapped a hand to his forehead. Hermione, Fleur, and Poppy were stunned. Ginny turned white.

"I have not!" Severus yelled, trying to rub off the black snake and skull. The voice coming out of his mouth was high-pitched and frightened—nothing at all like the deep baritone Professor Snape used in his classroom. "It won' come off!" He scraped at his skin. "What's going on? Where did this come from?"

"He's got a tattoo!" Rolanda screeched. She jabbed her finger harder towards Snape's arm.

Pomona and Minerva looked worried, never having seen a six-year-old with a tattoo before. Rolanda was smirking, hands on her little hips. "You're gonna be in troubleeeee," she sang.

Severus's eyes widened. Bright red scratches appeared across the Dark Mark. Little drops of blood began to sprout. "No!" he panicked.

"What do we do?" Poppy switched her wand from hand to hand. How do they tell a child that he would someday align himself with a Dark wizard and become branded forever?

None of the adults were doing anything—so Hermione rushed forward and grabbed Professor Snape's hands.

The little boy flinched and tried to pull away, jittery and upset. "My father will hi—I didn'—don' tell him! Please!"

"S-Severus, no one is going to tell your father—I promise they won't," Hermione implored. "He's not here—and no one will tell him. Okay?"

Severus still tried to get away. Hagrid bounced Aurora on his lap. Sybill began fussing so Fleur picked her up. Nearly every eye was on the raven-haired boy.

"He _always_ finds out," Severus said. It was hard for Hermione to believe that Professor Snape, the liar-extraordinaire, Bat of the Dungeons, could be a little, petrified child, or that he had ever been scared of anyone in his life.

Hermione held onto Snape's arms as she sat on the ground in front of him. He wasn't very tall. His black eyes were wide, expressive. "It will be our secret." His fidgeting calmed, slightly. "Okay?"

He opened his mouth to respond. Rolanda's voice interrupted, once again. "If he gets a tattoo, I want one too!"

"No one's getting a tattoo," Ron said, authoritative.

"He's got one!"

"No, he doesn't," Ron drawled, though everyone else could tell he was lying.

"Then what is that?" Rolanda put her hands on her hips.

"It's fake," Ron explained, sassing the little girl right back. He pulled out his wand. Nobody could see the Dark Mark anymore. The adults realized he had cast a Notice-Me-Not charm.

"Good job, Ronald," Luna whispered.

The eyes of the little girls jumped all over Snape's arm, looking for the tattoo, but they couldn't see it. "Where did it go?" Rolanda demanded, angry that she had somehow been tricked.

Severus rubbed his arm frantically. He couldn't see it—but he knew it was still there. He could feel it. Something icky, stuck in his skin.

Pomona said, "Maaaagic." Awed, she put her chubby hands on her chubby cheeks.

"Someone must have pranked Sna—him in his sleep," Ron continued.

"Hagrid, Firenze, will you stay in here with them?" Filius asked. "The rest of us will adjourn into the office." He was pointedly looking at the students, nodding towards the next room.

Hermione stood up. "I'll be right back," she said to the little Potions Master.

He crossed his arms, and curled his body inward, casting furtive glances at Rolanda. Rolanda was playing with Pomona. Minerva skittered over to Severus.

Hermione peered over her shoulder. She overheard Professor McGonagall say, "Don' listen to her, Sevvie. She doesn' know anything."

Neville shut the door on the packed office. All thirteen wizards began talking at once.

"What do we do?"

"How did this happen?"

"How do we fix it?"

"I hate children."

"Why is she so mean?"

"That Dark Mark is still there."

"Professor McGonagall is so pretty!"

"Look how small they are!"

"They're babies!"

"Tell us what to do!"

"What do we do?"

Hermione shushed them all. Professor Flitwick rubbed his tired face. "Someone has to watch them. We can't let any of the students see this. You six are the only other people to know about this."

"That doesn't solve the exam problem," Wrinkle mentioned.

"I'll watch Professor Trelawney!" Lavender eagerly raised her hand. "Me and Ron! We'll do it, right, Ron?" She looked worried for her favorite teacher.

"Um, yeah, I guess…?"

"Who wants to watch Rolanda?" Pince asked, her face even more sour than usual.

Nobody volunteered. Fleur cracked open the door. Everyone peered in. Rolanda was playing quietly with Pomona and Septima. Severus and Minerva were flipping through the magazines, looking at the pictures.

Rolanda pointed at Firenze and whispered to the other two girls. Pomona shook her head.

"Don't do that, 'Landa," Professor Sprout said. "That's mean."

Hooch rolled her eyes, but kept stacking books with Septima. Professor Vector's glasses were too big for her face and kept falling off. The little girl caught them every time and put them right back on.

Fleur shut the door.

"Pomona always has been the one to keep Rolanda on the straight and narrow," Poppy murmured. "Even during their school days."

Filius hesitantly said, "Poppy…"

"Oh no, I can't watch them, Filius. It's exam week—I'll be passing out Calming Draughts until the end, and if Severus doesn't return to normal, I'll have to do all his brewing to restock before next term."

"Merlin's pants, what if they don't return to normal?" Ginny groaned.

"Where is Dumbledore?" Ron asked.

"He is not here."

Hermione rubbed her left arm. "Of course he isn't," she mumbled.

Professor Wrinkle pointed to Luna. "The Head Girl can watch them."

Luna's large eyes widened further. "By myself? What about my exams?"

"Why can't all of them be nannies?" Professor Binns droned next to Walter's shoulder.

"I suppose we can postpone their exams…" Flitwick said, slowly, rolling his mustache between his fingers. "For the eighth-years, at least."

Ron and Lavender perked up. Lavender was a good student, but she dreaded taking exams. Ron dreaded school in general. Hermione had to beg Ron not to jump straight into the Auror program, after Kingsley's generous offer. He finally conceded that he might not want to be an Auror all his life, and that he may need a broader education, just in case.

"Who's going to watch Professor Sinistra?" Hermione asked. She loved babies, but she didn't think she could actually take care of one—besides, did they even have nappies in Hogwarts?

"I will do it," Fleur volunteered. "If zis isn't fixed before ze 'oliday, I will stay 'ere."

"No, Fleur, do you really think it'll take that long?" Ginny asked, wanting her family to be together on Christmas.

"I don't know—we've seen magic do more zan zis."

"Are these children going to stay over the holiday, if they accept this responsibility?" Madam Pince sneered with hands on her robust hips. Ron and Ginny gave Madam Pince a glare equal in acidity.

"I was hoping to spend the holiday with my father," Luna said.

Neville and Lavender murmured their agreement. Hermione crossed her robes closer to her torso._ Why does Professor Snape stay down here in the cold? It's awful!_

"If we bring your families here, will you stay?" Professor Flitwick asked. The former dueling champion looked anxious.

Ginny rubbed the back of her head. Lavender wrapped her fingers around Ron's wide hand.

Neville stuck his hands in his pockets. "Gran probably wouldn't mind, spending a few days here."

Hermione examined the legs of Professor Snape's varnished desk. If Professor Flitwick could bring her parents here, she would babysit a hundred children over Christmas.

Fleur motioned to Filius to stop talking, her hand fluttering across her neck. Professor Flitwick turned to Hermione and looked stricken. "Miss Granger, forgive me, I didn't—"

"I'm going to stay anyway, Professor. You don't need to try to convince me," she said with her habitual, dead smile. Hermione knew that smile didn't convince any of her friends, but it still worked on the teachers.

Madam Pomfrey, unaware that the Grangers had been relocated to Australia, clapped her hands together. "That's all settled up then. Now what about these exams?"

"Both types of DADA exams are tomorrow," Fleur said.

"The Herbology exam is today."

"Can Madam Pince have an exam in the library?" Ginny asked, finger on her chin.

"I think we will have to do that, yes."

"We _cannot _close the library for an exam," Pince snapped.

Ron and Ginny rolled their eyes. Flitwick saw it. "Why don't you all go take care of our newest children and we'll figure out the exam situation?"


	5. Meanies

A/N: Hey, did you know I got a Brit-picker? Yeah, it's awesome. She's awesome. Thanks a million to PomBear007 for helping me write this profit-free fanfiction~

* * *

CHAPTER FIVE—Meanies

.

In a row Hermione, Neville, Ron, and Lavender sat on a sofa in the Room of Requirement. Lavender cuddled and cooed at baby Trelawney in her arms. Hermione stared at her respected, intelligent professors lying on their bellies, surrounded by crayons. Ron and Neville gaped, mouths open, limbs slack. On the fluffy rug, miniaturized McGonagall, Snape, Sprout, Vector, and Hooch coloured on hippogriff-sized pieces of parchment.

Baby Sinistra's cradle rocked a slow tempo next to Hermione's knee. Antique wood creaked. Ancient odours sprinkled out of every crack. Hermione looked in on the Astronomy professor. Her lips twitched. The tiny fists curled on the ends of Aurora's arms. Her cashmere soft skin dimpled. Hermione smiled at the fat rolls—the chubbier, the better.

"This is mad, absolutely mad," said Ron, ogling at tiny Snape. The only little boy in the room drew pine trees as McGonagall scribbled various, colourful creatures at his side.

"Look how cute you are, yes, you are," Lavender said to Sybill. "We'll need to buy them all proper clothes. Snape's still wearing his lame black coat!" The students had shrunk their professors' clothes to fit them and it looked odd.

"I don't know, I think it's kind of funny," Ron said. The little Professor McGonagall was in her usual green jacket and Madam Hooch had on her flying robes and vest. "They're adults, turned into children, wearing adult clothes."

"The babies are wearing scarves," Neville stressed.

"Well, that's a little less funny."

"We'll transfigure their clothes when we get the chance." Hermione's voice was muffled by her yawn and her hand. Professor Sinistra began fussing, sucking in the air. Hermione conjured a bottle from the other side of the nursery.

"This is so mad," Neville said. His favourite teacher was now nothing but an ankle-biter! Instead of making Venomous Tentacula grow with a steady hand, Professor Sprout busied herself drawing yellow daisies and green roses.

"Oy, what's you talkin' 'bout over there?" nine-year-old Rolanda Hooch shouted from her spot on the floor.

"We were talking about everyone's lovely artwork," Hermione said. "Show us what you all have done."

"I drew a volcano!" Hooch declared, brandishing the drawing with so much gusto that the bottom furled up and hit Pomona in the nose.

"I drew pretty fwowers." Pomona pointed at the bottom of Rolanda's page.

Vector held up her paper, blushing and shy. She hid her red cheeks behind her too-large spectacles.

"Isn't that pretty?" Lavender encouraged. Nobody had any idea what all those multi-coloured scribbles were supposed to be.

"What did you two draw?" Hermione asked, kneeling between McGonagall and Snape.

"Trees…" he muttered.

"Kitties!" Minerva chirped, pointing at her favorite purple scribble.

_Oh, kitties, I see,_ Hermione thought. "We have such good artists!"

Hooch tottered over. "Kitties? Look like bloody monsters, to me."

"Rolanda, that is not nice," Hermione scolded. "Apologize to Minerva."

"No." She turned up her nose.

"Don't be mean to Minnie," Snape said hotly. The six-year-old was half the size of Rolanda. He gave the older girl a malevolent glare.

"Your Christmas trees are ugly," Rolanda said. "Like you!" She stuck out her tongue.

"Rolanda, go stand in the corner," Ron ordered, standing up. "Until you learn to be nice."

Minnie burst into tears. "Why are you always so mean?"

Severus tried to get her to stop. "Don' cry, Minnie." The little boy's eyes started shining. Both of the professors were trembling.

Ron marched Rolanda over to the corner and told her what she had done wrong. Hermione gave Neville a panicked look. Neville, still afraid of Professor Snape, sat next to little Minerva.

"I think they're nice kitties, Prof—Minerva," said Neville as he touched her shoulder.

Minnie launched into Neville's lap and kept sobbing. Neville looked terrified and confused—mostly terrified. Severus rubbed his eyes with both hands.

"Oh, S-Severus, it's alright," Hermione said, still unfamiliar with his given name. She hesitated when reaching out to his arms. The professor had never liked being touched, or comforted. Not that Hermione had ever seen anyone try to comfort him.

"Sev'rus's not ugly!" Minerva cried. "'Landa is jus' mean to Sevvie! All the time! I don't like it!"

"Don' cry, Minnie," Severus whispered, hiding his tears behind his tiny, white hands.

Professor Vector tripped over to Minerva. She held out a piece of parchment with a messy, multi-coloured heart. "Iss okay, Minnie." Hermione thought Professor Vector might be about eight-years-old. At this age, she had a gap between her two front teeth, causing an adorable lisp.

In the background, Pomona sat chewing her fingernails. Hermione hadn't seen Pomona talk to Severus once since their age-reversal. Was the nine-year-old…afraid of the little boy?

Minerva calmed, and sniffled at the drawing in her hands. "Th-thank you."

Septima skittered back to Pomona. Hermione watched Professor Snape rub his eyes, though he tried to hide his face.

Ginny and Luna came through the door.

"What's going on in here, then?" Ginny blustered, seeing her brother standing with Hooch in the corner, Snape on the floor, and McGonagall red-faced in Neville's arms.

Lavender murmured, "Hooch keeps being mean to Snape and McGonagall. I don't think they can be with Hooch and Sprout without getting into some fights, you know?"

Luna picked up Professor Sinistra. "Why do you think this has happened to them?"

Minerva disentangled herself from Neville's neck while Ginny and Hermione traded places.

"Who knows? Who knows?" Lavender said to Sybill in a baby voice, swinging Sybill's pudgy little hands around.

"What time is it?" Hermione groaned. Ginny played patty-cake with Minerva while Severus watched.

"Almost dinner time. Professor Flitwick is going to have the house-elves send up food," Luna said.

The food appeared on the low table in the center of the room. "There it is, see?" Luna asked as Lavender rolled her eyes.

"Alright, kids, come to the table," Hermione said. Hooch sulked over her shoulder as all the others congregated near the food. Ron helped the little ones climb into chairs. Ginny put napkins in everyone's laps while Neville poured out the pumpkin juice.

Hermione bent down to speak to the Quidditch referee. "Are you ready to apologize to Severus and Minerva?"

"Hmph!"

"Rolanda," Hermione warned.

"I don't like him," Rolanda huffed.

"You're not going to like everybody you meet. But you don't have to be mean to him or Minerva." Hermione straightened up. "If you apologize, you can go eat at the table with everyone else. Or you can be stubborn and eat here, alone."

Ron took the baby from Lavender and fed the infant a bottle. Luna fed Aurora. Lavender and Neville began on their roast chicken while Ginny supervised the professors.

"What do you want to do?" Hermione asked.

"I'll say sorry," Rolanda mumbled, rubbing the floor with her toe.

"Good." Hermione led Rolanda to her seat. "Minerva, Severus, Rolanda has something to say." Professor McGonagall looked expectant and impatient. Professor Snape narrowed his eyes, still frowning.

"I'm sorry," Madam Hooch said to the floor.

"Alright, everyone, dig in," Ginny said, hoping to distract the children from another argument.

Hermione fell, exhausted, into the couch cushions.

"How long is this gonna last?" Neville asked, munching on a drumstick.

"Who knows," Ron moaned.

"Luna and I have our Astronomy exam at eleven," Hermione said. Hermione was the only eighth-year enrolled in Professor Sinistra's class.

"I guess we'll have to put the kids to bed by then."

"Whoa—where are they sleeping?" Ron asked. "I mean, the babies have cots, but what about the other kids?" Sybill's dainty fingers tried to pry the bottle from Ron's grip. She was nothing but a doll in Ron's Quidditch-toned arms.

The students turned to look at their teachers.

"Um, well…" Hermione ruffled her hair. "Ron and Lavender sleep in the same bed anyway…" Lavender blushed. "The little girls can sleep in the extra bed."

"Should they be sleeping in the same bed in front of the kids?" Luna asked quietly.

"Well, I can't take care of a baby all on my own." Lavender became flustered. "Sybill will be with us in Ron's room, right, Ron?" He nodded.

"Ginny and I can move our beds into the eighth-year's common room," Luna offered. "Lavender's bed can be moved to the sitting room as well—we can all sleep out there, for a few days."

Neville put his head in his hand. "The Gryffindors will notice your bed has been moved." Since Luna was the Head Girl, she had her own room, on the floor above the eighth-year common room. Hogwarts hadn't had any eighth-years for two centuries. Mrs. Longbottom insisted Neville return to school and train to be a proper Herbologist. Hermione wanted to earn her NEWTs, even if she would be the only one of her year to return. Thankfully, Ron had been convinced to come back, and he had convinced Lavender. Harry was eager to make a name for himself, as someone other than "the Boy Who Lived Twice"—it was a mouthful, he was no longer a boy, and most of his success had been based on luck. That was how Harry explained it, anyway.

"I'm sure you can find a spare bed somewhere in the castle." Hermione settled back into the arm of the couch, extending her legs so that her feet almost touched Lavender.

"I can just sleep on the sofa until the holiday starts." Ginny added in a mutter, "Though I hope we won't be here that long."

The children finished eating and began running around.

"We need to get them something to sleep in," Ron said.

"After I eat, I'll go get clothes for the girls," Luna volunteered. Everyone turned to Ron and Neville.

"Not it!" Neville said. Ron hung his head.

"Fine," the ginger sighed. "I'll go into Snape's dungeons and root around, and hope I don't set off a hex or something."

Luna pressed a finger to her lips—Hermione was asleep. The brunette's head lolled on the arm of the couch. Brown tendrils of hair hung over the cushions and brushed the stone floor. Ron, sending a comforted grin to Hermione's sleeping form, passed the baby to his girlfriend. Luna gave Aurora to Ginny. Ron and the Head Girl then left in search of clothes for the children.

"What spell do we use to shrink clothes, again?" Ron asked Luna as he shut the door behind them.

Living on the run for 5 months (sleeping in a tent, no less) had ruined Hermione's sleeping pattern. Though Voldemort was, for lack of a better term, in remission, and most of the Death Eaters had been imprisoned, Hermione's brain would not permit her to sleep until exhaustion set in. There were too many things to stress about, too many people that might be after her life. That meant cat naps, grabbed at any moment, would have to do instead of real sleep. It wasn't a perfect system, by any means. Not even 40 minutes later, a shrill giggle woke Hermione from her unplanned nap.

The little girls were loping away from one another. Hooch tossed her brown vest away as she chased down her prey. Minerva's doll-like hands clutched her green tartan skirts up about her knees. Her tiny, red and gold socked feet fluttered beneath black ruffles and hems. Professor Vector's magenta teaching cloak flew out behind her and brown curls bounced on her shoulders. Sprout's cheeks flushed, warmed by running and the heavy tan cardigan about her torso.

Professor Vector stumbled as Madam Hooch tagged her shoulder. "You're it!"

Lavender sat at Hermione's feet, still holding the baby. Neville sat on the rug, his foot tipping Professor Sinistra's crib as he watched the kids play. The couch dipped as Hermione righted herself. The smell of roast chicken still scented the air.

"What time is it?" Hermione yawned.

"Almost nine," Neville answered. "You alright? You haven't eaten anything."

"I'm fine." When Hermione looked down in the cradle, she was surprised to see wide, blue eyes looking up at her. "Professor Sinistra is awake."

"She just kind of lays there," Lavender explained.

"Maybe she's glad to have an early holiday." Neville smirked up at Hermione, his head back against the couch. "I would be."

Hermione grinned, wondering how it felt to be a baby again. As her cheek squished against her hand, and her elbow dug into her knee, she looked around the room. Professor Snape sat alone, near the bookcase. The little boy watched the others play tag.

In her chest, a ball of hot air expanded. The empty feeling rose up to the hollow of her throat. From the other side of the chamber, she could see him curling his bare toes into the carpet. Professor Sprout and Madam Hooch sprinted across the room, with Professor McGonagall close behind. Professor Vector squealed and hid behind a wooden chair.

.

Severus saw one of the adults coming over. At first, he thought she was walking to the bookshelf. Then she looked at him. Severus moved his eyes away, to look at anything but her. He tried to scoot away. When she sat down beside him, his heart beat just a little bit faster. What did she want?

"Why aren't you playing?" The girl was so close he could feel her body heat touching his arm.

He didn't look at her. "They don' wan' me to play."

"That's not true."

The lady was giving him a sad face. Severus fumbled with a button at the bottom of his jacket. He was not used to people trying to look into his eyes, or being so close to him when they talked. "Nobody likes me." The young wizard scooted down the wall. Somehow he knew that this lady didn't like him very much either. But he couldn't figure out why she would want to talk to him—he didn't have any toys she could take.

"They don't know you," she said.

Severus pulled his knees closer to his chest. "They won' like me when they know me, eivver." Minnie could play with 'Landa—but 'Landa wouldn't let her play if Severus wanted to play too. So he made sure to stay away, so Minnie could have fun.

"I don't think you're all that bad."

A sideways glance let him know that the lady talking to him was feeling sad. She was smiling, but her eyes were not happy. "Wha's your name?" he asked, twiddling the fingers resting on his bony knees.

"I am Hermione."

"Her-mi-nee?" Her name was even longer than his!

She giggled. "You can call me 'Mione." She offered her hand for him to shake.

Severus retreated into his shy shell before his little hand reached out. Her hand was warm, holding his.

"It's nice to meet you, Severus." The lady was smiling at him; he felt his heart go faster. He jerked his hand away, hid them both behind his folded legs.

'Mione gave him a grin. "How about we read a book?"

Severus nodded, his shiny black eyes wide and excited.

"Alright, let's find a good one." Hermione stood up. She offered to help him stand. Severus was too surprised to move. Why was she being so nice?

Hermione smiled at him some more, waiting. Hesitantly, he extended his arm and let her pull him to his feet. The lady did not let go as they looked at the bookshelves.

He wasn't tall enough to look at all the books. So instead, he looked up at her. His chin didn't even reach Hermione's belly. "'Mione, what book do you wan' to read?"

"Well, how about…Beedle the Bard?"

"Okay." His mother had read that to him, once. "Do you like it?"

A smile, with all her teeth, answered him before her words. "I found it very helpful." Severus wasn't sure what she was talking about, but if it made her smile, it didn't matter. Hermione led him to the couch.

There, a boy with black hair met his eye. Severus hid himself behind 'Mione's leg. He definitely did not like that boy.

"Neville, why don't you go play with the girls?" Hermione asked.

As the wizard walked away, 'Mione plopped onto the couch. Her red and gold tie fluttered. Severus twisted his hands behind his back. Lavender tried to smile at the little boy. At first, it looked like a scared, uncomfortable smile. By the time it was a real smile, Severus knew he had been right—nobody liked him.

'Mione hopped to the middle of the couch and slapped the squishy cushion next to her. "Let's hear about Babbity Rabbity and the Cackling Stump." Severus crawled up next to her, on the opposite side of Lavender.

Severus kept his miniscule hands folded on top of his knees. His eyes focused on the page, following with 'Mione's pretty voice. Ten pages later, Severus had found his way into 'Mione's lap. And she didn't tell him to get off!

Ron came back with an armful of Snape's clothes and almost dropped them when he saw Hermione cuddling the Potions Master. She was reading nursery tales to the Bat of the Dungeons.

"This is so bizarre," Ron muttered into Lavender's ear as he kissed her cheek. Lavender nodded.

"We've got the clothes," Luna said to Hermione. "Now how do we get these kids to the common room?"

Someone called, "'Ello?" from the door. Professor Weasley came in. "'Ow are you all doing?"

"They're getting sleepy," Lavender replied. The kids had stopped running around to stack blocks as high as they could. Gently, Lavender sat Sybill in the trundle.

"How can we sneak them downstairs?"

"I zink we can Disillusion zem," Fleur said.

Severus clutched Hermione's arm, twisted in her lap so he could look at her. Was 'Mione going to leave him? Was she trying to get rid of him?

"Do you want me to take you to Neville's room?" she asked him.

Severus tried to hide his embarrassed face. "He don' like me. I know it." He wasn't sure which one was named Neville, but neither of those older boys liked him.

Lavender, Fleur, and Ginny looked guilty. Everyone was still afraid of what the tall, imposing Professor Snape would do when he returned to normal.

"'E can stay with you, 'Ermione," Fleur whispered, hand resting on the Gryffindor's shoulder. "If you want."

Hermione remembered the last time she had tried to help Professor Snape. He had made it perfectly clear that he did not want anything to do with her. Professor Snape would be so mad…but…she didn't want him to be uncomfortable with Neville….and Neville didn't want Snape with him either…where would he sleep….

_Bugger, what should I do? He hates me…_

Little Severus slid off of Hermione's lap, curled into a ball. The pale boy was sad and uncomfortable and wouldn't look anybody in the eye.

"Then I guess you'll be stuck sleeping with me," Hermione said to Severus as if it were a punishment for him. "I bet I snore." _Oh, God, I hope he doesn't yell at me again._

"Girls don't snore," Minerva said, lolling over the arm of the couch.

Everyone laughed. Severus looked at Minerva and she gave him a big smile. His lips turned upwards in a grin.

"Let's get zem to bed."

Hermione hitched Disillusioned Severus on her back. Seven-year-old Minerva clung to Neville's neck; Neville turned red from lack of oxygen, but didn't seem to mind—he was still able to carry Septima in his arms with Minerva on his back. Fleur and Lavender each carried an infant. Luna held Pomona's hand and Ginny walked behind Rolanda, giving a nudge every now and then. The little girl wanted to stop and talk to all the portraits.

* * *

Thankfully they didn't run into anyone, since curfew was so near. How could they possibly explain all these little children suddenly appearing, after the professors had all disappeared?

After a frenzied ten minutes of sorting and shrinking clothes, changing, washing up, and rearranging furniture, the children were ready for bed.

Ginny clapped her hands. "Alright, girls, ready to begin the sleep-over?" The house-elves had located an extra bed frame and mattress in the Slytherin common room. The faint smell of old stone tinkled from the goose-down.

Rolanda and Minerva sat on separate ends of the bed with Septima and Pomona in between them. They all nodded, their chubby cheeks freshly scrubbed.

"Everyone face that way and grab a hair brush," Luna chimed. Luna sat down behind Minerva; the four little ducks brushed each other's hair.

Ginny felt like laughing—she never had a sister, never had a sibling to look after—now she had four. "This is so much fun!" Ginny squealed. The little girls giggled, even tomboy Rolanda.

Minerva had the longest hair, and it was pure, Scottish black. She hummed as she brushed Septima's brown ringlets.

In the next room, Ron and Lavender readied for bed. Lavender sang Sybill a lullaby and set her in the cot. Ron made the bed, tying the curtains open so they could see the baby at all times. Fleur did the same thing, on the second floor, with Aurora Sinistra.

Hermione turned down her crimson and gold covers in her bedroom across the suite. Severus swung his arms, wearing a night shirt that was two sizes too big and black trousers that barely fit.

"Why is your room so red?" he asked. His voice was sweet and curious.

"I'm a Gryffindor," she explained as she fluffed the pillows.

"Am I a Gryffindor?" he asked as Hermione helped him climb up onto the squishy mattress.

"Well, I think you could be," Hermione said, hiding a mischievous grin. "But I think you'd prefer Slytherin."'

"Sli-der-in?" He was peering up at her, tucked into the king-sized bed, his black hair messy around his face.

"Mmhmn."

He dragged the book off the bedside table. "Can I look some more?" he asked.

"Of course you can," Hermione said. _How long is he going to be this sweet, innocent, adorable child? Is he going to wake up tomorrow and be a complete arse-hole? They're all going to be so angry when they return to normal—Professor Snape is going to be the worst!_

Hermione sat above the covers, leaning against the headboard. Severus turned the pages. His little feet shuffled beneath the quilt.

"'Mione, what's this word?"

Hermione was surprised—he was actually _reading_. His tiny finger pointed in the middle of the page. "It's "carnation." It's a flower." _Just how much does he remember?_

"Thank you," he said and continued to read.

_Look at those long eyelashes—and he's so cute! _Hermione curled her fists under her chin and watched little Severus read._ And polite! His mum must have raised him so well—and that cute little voice!_ She smiled.

* * *

An Hour Later

Hermione smoothed the covers over Severus's sleeping form. She tiptoed across the moonlit room. Before she could shut the door behind her, a bunch of little girls started screaming.

"You're taking up too much of the bed!" Minerva yelled.

"No, you are! Me and Mona are squished!"

Septima covered her ears and scrunched up her eyes, stuck in between the two screamers. Pomona burrowed under the covers. Ginny tried to quiet them all—baby Sybill started wailing in the next room.

Severus peeked out through a crack in the door. "'Mione?" His voice was small. "Who's yelling? Where are you going? Are you coming back?"

Ginny picked up a kicking Hooch, and Luna pulled a clawing McGonagall away from the bed. Neville stood in his doorway, bewildered and distressed. Luna couldn't keep a hold of Minnie. Her green eyes blazed with anger, her seven-year-old feelings pushed to the point of eruption.

Neville picked up his head of house, holding her to his chest. "Calm down," he urged as Luna smoothed down Minerva's hair and shushed her.

"What's going on out here?" Ron hissed as he shut the door to Lavender's room. "What's all this noise about?"

"I don't like Minnie!"

"I _don't_ like '_Landa_!"

"You shut up!"

"_You _shut up, you big mouth!"

"No more name calling!" Ginny demanded. She put Rolanda down. "You two need to get along!"

"She's friends with that freak! It don't make no sense!" Rolanda yelled, pointing at Minnie.

Minnie glared at Rolanda—Ron was reminded of Professor McGonagall when she was disappointed; that look had been sent in his direction many a time.

"Don't call him a freak, you meanie!"

"Neville, take her to your room," Hermione sighed. She kneeled down to be even with Severus. He was quivering in the doorway. "Go back to sleep, Severus."

"Where are you going, 'Mione?" He rubbed his left eye. Those little lips were always frowning.

"I'll be back soon—I have to take a test."

Severus withdrew into the shadows behind the door.

"I'll be back. I promise."

Luna wandered over. "Severus, would you like to help Ronald with the baby?" Luna had never been afraid of Professor Snape.

"Baby?"

Luna offered her hand. "Yes, Baby Sybill. You can hold her—I know you'll be careful."

Severus's big eyes watched Hermione straighten up. He was still trying to hide.

"I'll be back in a little bit—you have fun with Sybill and Ron," Hermione said. Professor Snape kept glancing back at her as Luna led him to Ron's room. Hermione felt guilt bloat in her chest.

_I should not feel guilty about taking a test! _she thought._ But he looks so sad! Bugger, this is really messing with my image of Professor Snape._

* * *

Professor Flitwick looked exhausted as he moderated the eleven o'clock Astronomy exam. He had been running around all day, penning letters while watching examinations, then rushing to the owlery at every opportunity. He sent letters to the Hog's Head bar, wondering if Aberforth knew where his brother had gone; Albus's old residence in Godric's Hollow; to Harry Potter at Number 12 Grimmauld Place; to Nicolas Flamel's daughter in Iceland; and even to Minister Shacklebolt.

The descendant of goblins stumped between the rows, his feet tired and aching. He passed Hermione Granger. Since her quill twitched between her middle and first fingers, and her lips parted, he assumed that she was busy double-checking her answers. Had he guessed she was busy triple-checking her answers, he would have been correct.

At the back of the classroom, Filius turned to walk down the other row, returning to the front. Above him, stars and planets twinkled. Aurora's classroom had been charmed, as had the Great Hall; except her classroom always saw stars, regardless of the time of day. Next year he would try to convince Albus to schedule this exam for a decent hour.

Luna flipped her exam over, placing her quill on top of it. She was done. Professor Flitwick paused at her shoulder. "Remain in the hall so that we may speak, Miss Lovegood." The Head Girl nodded. Luna swung her student robes over her uniform as she walked towards the drafty hallway. Hermione met her a few minutes later.

Professor Flitwick shut the door behind him. At the top of the stairs, he turned to face his two brightest pupils. "How are you all doing? Are…they alright?"

Luna said, "Madam Hooch and Professor McGonagall keep fighting about Professor Snape."

Flitwick twiddled his drooping moustache. "I see."

"Did they argue as adults?" Hermione asked.

"Rolanda has always distrusted Severus. She once blamed him for Charity's death."

"Do you think they all subconsciously remember things from their adult days?" Luna questioned.

Hermione chewed on her thumb. "That seems very likely. Their adult minds are still in there, somewhere. Professor Snape can read." All three of them were thinking about the problem. A few more students left the exam room.

"How are the smallest two?" Flitwick asked, sotto voce.

Hermione said, "Fleur has Professor Sinistra and Lavender has been all over Professor Trelawney all day."

"I see. And…none of them have…changed? Aged, at all?"

The girls shook their heads.

"I see," he sighed. "Try to have a pleasant night, Miss Lovegood, Miss Granger."


	6. Shelter

A/N: Sorry for the delay; I decided to re-order a whole bunch of chapters and switch things around. So instead of just having to edit, I had to re-write, ha. Please accept my apology; and please give some thanks to my Brit-picker PomBear007~

* * *

CHAPTER SIX—Shelter

.

Snow pattered against the mottled glass only to melt. Hermione, Luna, and Ginny stared dully at the rivulets. Exams had taken their toll on the students, made them tired. Tomorrow, everyone else would ride the train home. But not the war heroes turned babysitters.

Hermione had longed for the solitude Christmas would bring. Instead, vociferous pops sounded every few minutes while Ron and Neville played Exploding Snap with Septima and Rolanda. Watching snow melt with Luna and Ginny—quietly—offset the squeals of children and the pop of cards.

Hermione traced a melt-trail with her finger. _It won't be snowing in Australia, _she thought_. I wonder if Mum and Da are having a nice Christmas._

Bang!

"For the love of Merlin," Ginny grumbled. She slammed her chin down on her arms. "Exploding Snap is so obnoxious!"

Septima and Rolanda thought the smouldering cards were hilarious—tears-in-their-eyes hilarious. They were giving Neville a run for his money.

"Mona, you make sure ze babies stay on ze blanket, okay?"

Professor Sprout bobbed her head up and down. Baby Aurora was in the crawling stage of development; baby Sybill could roll on her stomach but not much else. "'Rora, come back!" Pomona said, trying to distract the Astronomy professor with a hankie.

"What are you doing, Professor Weasley?" Luna inquired politely when she noticed her and Lavender standing in front of Hermione's bedroom door.

"Ze kids said zey had problems getting into some of ze rooms. I noticed everyone 'as wards on zeir doors and we should take zem off."

Hermione's discomfort must have shown on her face—perhaps it was the widening of her eyes or the stiff angle of her chin.

"Only until ze professors change back to normal," Fleur added. Hermione's door had seven different repelling and locking spells on it. Neville's door had three, Ron's door had one, and Lavender hadn't added any defences.

"That makes sense," Hermione said. What she meant was: _I haven't slept in a room without wards for the past year and I'd really rather you didn't take them down but I can't very well say that with everyone staring at me._

Bang!

"I lost again!" Neville complained, tossing his cards on the table. Black ashes clung to his fingertips. Rolanda and Septima high-fived. Ron smirked, glad to have narrowly missed defeat.

"Look at that," Luna whispered to Ginny and Hermione. She nodded towards the opposite corner.

Severus sat alone; the tiniest boy in the room had shoved himself into a tiny ball, clutching the arms of the chair. His knees were curled up to his neck.

"It must be the cards," Luna remarked.

"He did that earlier, too," Hermione said. "When I touched his shoulder to get his attention—had a little panic attack."

Severus unfolded his legs from his chest, but remained twitchy and tense.

"I'm not sure how we can fix something like that," Ginny murmured.

Hermione said, "He just needs to feel safe."

"Don't we all?"

"Leave it to the Ravenclaw to become philosophical," Ginny sighed. She and Luna turned back to the window. The fire from inside lit the white flakes as they threw themselves against the glass.

"He's just not comfortable with us all yet." Hermione put her head in her hand before she continued. "A part of him knows he doesn't actually like us—that we're all just his nasty students that set his robes on fire."

"What was that about fire?" Ginny asked, eyebrows twisting.

"Nothing."

Luna said, "I always thought he was a good teacher."

"I always thought he was a berk," Ginny retorted.

"That's what I'm talking about—he can sense it," Hermione stressed. "He knows we know him and vice versa—he just doesn't remember how."

"I think my brain is gonna explode." Ginny rubbed her temples for emphasis. "I wonder what it feels like to be a kid again."

"I have the feeling we're going to find out what it feels like once our professors turn back into professors," Luna said. "In very colourful terms."

"Merlin, Professor McGonagall's gonna make _that_ face."

Hermione was confused. "What face?"

Ginny explained, "The disapproving-line face."

Luna said, "Oh,_ that_ face."

Hermione was surprised they didn't shake the window out of the wall, they were laughing so hard.

"Sinistra and Trelawney are going to be right miffed when they find out someone's been changing their nappies," Ginny snickered.

Luna covered her face, embarrassed for the two professors. Who wouldn't be horrified by that?

"Alright." Hermione heaved herself up from the chair. "Sevvie needs a bath. And I think he's had enough _excitement_," she stressed, nodding towards the current raucousness of Exploding Snap.

"Oh, the girls should have a bath too," Luna said. "Perhaps tomorrow, before we take them outside?"

"I can't wait to get out of this castle." Ginny stretched her arms behind her head, cracking her shoulders.

"You're not the only one—the kids are going mad in here."

Earlier in the day, Rolanda had convinced Septima to climb on her shoulders "just for the fun of it." The two girls had fallen onto Mona and caused a considerable amount of tears. Rolanda had also found every spider in the room and then shepherded all of those spiders down the back of Severus's and Minerva's jackets—which caused even more tears. (Severus held them back until he made it to the safety of 'Mione's bathroom; Minerva had reared back and scratched Rolanda in the face—a just punishment, in Ginny's opinion.)

Severus looked up at 'Mione—she made sure he could see her walking closer. Last time she had snuck up on him, he nearly jumped out of his socks. "Bath time," she said. "Then bed time."

* * *

Bath time.

The worst time ever.

Sevvie's mind began screaming, reminding him of all the cold water he had to sit in, his bum scratching on the wooden bottom of the bath bucket, shivering under a thin towel. He was almost too big to fit in the barrel now. He glanced all around while 'Mione looked down at him. There was only the fireplace—and no barrel.

He was supposed to take a bath in front of everyone? He turned red. He didn't want them all looking at him and giggling. Then his brain remembered—'Mione's bathtub.

"W-where?" he stuttered.

"In my washroom."

Sevvie hopped up. "Okay." He bobbled along behind 'Mione, grinning from ear to tiny ear. This was the first time in his life he was _happily_ going to the bath. He had only ever had two warm baths in his life; today would be his third—and it wasn't even a special occasion!

'Mione fetched the whitest, fluffiest towel Severus had ever seen from the cupboard. She offered it to him.

_I can't touch it—it will get dirty!_ Instead he shoved his fingernails in his mouth and hoped she wouldn't force him to hold it.

'Mione looked at him like he was batty but didn't stress the issue. Severus relaxed when she set the towel on top of the toilet. As she turned the taps she told him, "I'll gather your night clothes while the water is running. Then you'll have it all to yourself."

_All to myself…_

The claw-foot tub was as big as a house and whiter than the snow outside—what if he drowned? Or made the tub dirty? Severus wanted to touch the porcelain—reached out for it. Then he drew his hand back.

"'Mione…"

She didn't hear him; she continued shuffling around his clothes in the bedroom.

"'Mione…" he groaned around his fingertips. The tub was just sitting there, sparkling at him. Filling with blue, bubbly water.

"Alright, your clothes are here on the sink." She was so tall, with her hands on her hips. "Something wrong?"

"I…" He looked at the tub. In the corner of his eye he could see Hermione reaching for him. He flinched away and felt bad immediately after—she looked kind of sad with her fingertips hovering in front of his shoulder.

"I'll be right outside," she said instead of being mad. The water stopped crashing around. Why did she always smile at him instead of tell him to shut up? He always said the wrong thing. As she backed out the door, she said, "Take as long as you want. Call for me if you need me."

All he could do was nod.

* * *

Hermione shut the door.

_He's never going to feel safe_, she thought.

A horrendous twitch jerked in her wand hand—Professor Weasley had finished taking all the wards off the door. Hermione frowned at the useless slab of wood separating her bedroom from the rest of the world. Then she looked back to the washroom.

The witch growled, frustrated, and got ready for bed. In the back of her mind, her pulse repeated _never safe, never happy, never safe. _

* * *

Severus swam around the giant tub, splashing and laughing. Fear of leaving dirty fingerprints dissolved as bubbles gathered on the top of his head. He couldn't remember ever having such a fun bath before. Where were all these bubbles coming from?

The young wizard could pretend he was a fish in the ocean or maybe a shark or a jellyfish. He squiggled through the water. How could he bear having such hot water on his cheeks, or on his eyelids? Sevvie was relishing it, trying to drink all the hot water through his skin just in case he never had another hot bath again.

Bubbles formed like a Santa-beard on his chin. He splashed, and laughed, and was happy.

* * *

Hermione knotted her hair behind her neck, watching the bathroom door. Professor Snape was _giggling_ on the other side. _That is the oddest thing I have ever heard._ She had to cover her mouth so he wouldn't hear her laughing about it. Even as a child, he probably did not like to be laughed at.

_I'm not necessarily laughing _at_ him—it's just so cute!_

Splish splash splish splish splash.

Hermione rubbed her cotton jumper over a spot on her left arm. Hearing the professor be happy was an interesting experience. Then it stopped.

All the noises stopped—the happy noises; the water noises; the rocket-ship, bubble-popping, monster noises.

* * *

Severus sucked in a breath and stopped moving.

_No!_ his mind wailed.

Blue bubbles fizzled all over the washroom floor. While Severus stared over the rim of the tub, the bubbles turned into a wet puddle.

He clawed his way out of the bath. He ripped a towel off the shelf to soak up all the water before someone would see it. _No, no, no! _'Mione could not see this—_What have I done?_

Everything he touched got dirty—any time he had fun he ruined it—every time he talked he said something dumb.

"Are you alright in there?" Hermione called. Severus jumped; he was so frightened by her sudden voice he slipped on his own wet feet and grabbed onto the tub before he could smash his face into the tile.

"I—I'm fine, 'Mione."

"Your clothes are on the sink."

"Okay!" He chewed on his wet fingernails, tasting chemical hints of 'Mione's honey shampoo.

Water soaked into the towel making a soggy mountain on the floor. Was she going to get mad? She was going to get mad. She was going to get so mad. _Wha' should I do? No, no, why did this happen?_

Wet hair sprawled wetly against his forehead and the back of his neck. Water stained his grey shirt as he pulled it over his head. Then the collar wouldn't stay on his shoulder right.

He paced a half-circle around the soppy white towel. Steam stopped whisping from the tub. _Wha' do I do?_ For five minutes he repeated the question in his head, repeated his crescent pace.

Two quiet taps on the door distracted him. "Sev?" 'Mione asked, hesitant. "Are you nearly ready for bed?"

"Y-yes." Sevvie opened the door, but just a little bit—not even enough for 'Mione to see his whole face.

"What's wrong, Sev?" She nudged the door open a bit more.

"I…" He twisted the hem of his t-shirt between his hands. "Water got on the f-floor. I…I'm sorry." He ducked his head and closed his eyes. He whispered, "I'm sorry."

"Oh."

Severus cringed away.

"Did you clean it up?"

"I tried." If he leaned any further away, he would fall back on his bum.

"Alright, good. Come to bed, and bring me the hairbrush before your hair turns into a mess."

Severus's eyes crashed open; 'Mione was already walking away. 'Mione wasn't going to punish him for being so careless? Was this a trick? It must be.

The little boy darted to the sink and grabbed 'Mione's hairbrush for her. Looking at the hunk of plastic in his hand, he hesitated.

_Trick. Hairbrush. Hit me._

He was so scared of what his punishment was going to be—why did he have to spill the water? His tummy felt rumbly.

Hermione crawled to her side of the bed. She looked confused when she saw Severus still in the washroom. "Well, come on then."

Severus took a few steps closer—still out of 'Mione's grabbing range. "Y-you're not…angry wit' me?"

"Of course not; it's just water. It was very responsible of you to tell me."

Now he was next to the bed, clutching the hairbrush to his collarbones.

"Ready for bed?"

Severus nodded. The little boy let Hermione pull him into her lap. She was warm and the air was so cold against his wet hair. Tingles swept up and down his neck as she brushed out the soggy tangles.

Hermione smiled when he relaxed his posture, crumpling in her lap. He was so stiff and reserved all the time. He avoided Madam Hooch as much as possible, and tried not to stay too close to Neville or Ron. He looked sad whenever Professor Sprout ran away from him and he could barely speak to Professor Vector without the girl stuttering. Hermione could tell he was lonely. Had he been lonely before?

For the hundredth time,Hermione told herself: _I will not intrude on his personal life._ But they needed to talk about _something_. "Severus, what holiday is your favorite?"

His six-year-old jaw opened and shut with a clicking noise.

In her mind, she giggled. Little Sevvie couldn't lie very well. He said, "I like Christmas." He gave a little shrug.

"Really?"

Sev put his hands between his knobby knees. The bristles made a rippling sound through his hair. His black eyes rolled around as he dithered. "Can I tell you something?"

Hermione could see the end of his long nose and brushed the hair above his ear. "Of course."

"You won' tell nobody?"

"I promise." _I said I wouldn't pry! Now he's telling some sort of secret! Merlin, what do I do?_

"The others will think I'm odd if you tell them."

"I'm not going to tell anybody." Hermione had never had a conversation so close to Sevvie or Professor Snape before. Now he was sitting on her lap, wearing a too-large shirt and no socks.

"I don' really like any holiday. Not even Christmas."

"Why not?" What kind of kid didn't like Christmas?

"Dad gets days off on holidays," Severus whispered. "He's not…coming…is he?"

Hermione shook her head. _Oh my God._

"Is Mum coming?" That face, with a long nose and unhappy black eyes, turned towards her. His pale feet swung above the floor.

"No, I'm afraid you're stuck with just me this Christmas."

Severus didn't look disappointed—but he didn't look happy. His face didn't change—it stayed blank. He turned back to the front.

Hermione resumed the grooming. "I like Christmas Eve," she offered.

"Why?"

_Family_, she thought. "The excitement and mystery." She swallowed, flustered by her dry tongue. "The next day is Christmas, and you can spend all night thinking up all the wonderful gifts you'll get. That's half the fun of Christmas."

"Mysteries are fun?"

"Mmhmn."

"I though' you liked knowing stuff."

"I do," she laughed. "But it's also fun to find stuff out, don't you think?"

"I guess so."

Hermione kept brushing, even though all the tangles were long gone.

Over and over again, the bristles niggled against Severus's scalp, slid between each strand of hair. 'Mione began to hum Christmas songs. The furnace pushed heat across the room. Warm air caressed Severus's smiling face and his wiggling toes.

"Maybe I'll like this Christmas, if there's mysteries," he said.

"Maybe," Hermione murmured, hoping the same thing.


	7. Tears Are Colder in the Winter

A/N: Thank you all for the reviews—I read them all and am thankful you take the time to write them. Even if I don't respond to them, I still love all the feedback and want to huggle everyone for the kind words or the help you give, and especially for your readership.

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CHAPTER SEVEN—Tears Are Colder in the Winter

.

Hermione struggled to shove her bushy head through the collar of her jumper. "Winter," she grumbled. Electricity crackled through her curls and made them puffy. The witch flicked her fingers at the furnace, turning it down.

Sev was burning up—he flung the quilt away every chance he could in the night. _It's much colder in the dungeons, I expect._ The house-elves wanted to help take care of the young professors, and thought cranking up the heat was the best way to do so.

It was a good thing the Potions Master was so tiny—he curled in ball no bigger than 'Mione's pillow instead of taking up all the bed. For the past two nights, the young woman would feel miniscule knees poking into her back, or his forehead pressed between her shoulder blades.

"I wonder if he sleeps like that as an adult," she murmured.

The little boy uncurled his body—Hermione covered her mouth, not intending to wake him. _Spies must be light sleepers_, she thought as Severus snuggled back into the pillow. Both Sev and 'Mione slept like backwards C's, facing the door.

She neared the bed and found her wand on the nightstand. 'Mione bit her lip so she wouldn't sigh (the Bat of the Dungeons apparently had hearing like a bat). Ron's Notice-Me-Not Charm was a brilliant idea—but the spell had to be recast each morning. Last night, 'Mione had lain awake to watch black ink and magic seep between Sevvie's skin cells, bloom a skull and snake.

As she magicked away the Dark Mark, Hermione felt a patch on her own left arm itch. She resisted the urge to scratch and instead remembered waking up yesterday morning.

_She had never woken up to a man in her bed before, not even a tiny one. Adrenaline and fear jolted her spine straight—Severus woke up scared and confused._

"_I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" he repeated. 'Mione was breathing heavily, staring at him. He covered his face and tucked his knees under his sharp chin._

"_Shh, shh, no, you didn't do anything wrong…"_

The witch pulled her sleeves lower after putting her wand away. Professor Snape lay on his back, his too-big clothes sprawled over his scrawny form. His ebony hair skewed over his nose and fluttered with each breath. His nose was just a little too big, even as a child. Regardless, Hermione thought he was adorable.

Watching Professor Snape sleep was…liberating. The man who gave up everything had some respite—sort of. At this point in his life, Sevvie didn't know he _needed _respite—didn't know what he had given up.

"This is so odd," she murmured for the hundredth time. Hadn't she been wondering how his tongue would feel down her throat two days ago? And now she was teaching him how to play What's the Time, Mr. Wolf?

Severus scrunched his eyes and rolled over. He tried to shuffle underneath a pillow as he yawned. His little hand grasped the sheet next to him. "'Mione?" He looked all around until he found her.

"Good morning, Sev." She smiled at him, as motherly as possible. She had always nagged mother-like, but didn't know if she had ever been _motherly_. "Sleep well?"

He nodded. The coverlet dwarfed him. Black hair flipped like wings over his ears and at the base of his neck. "How come you're not wearing red and yellow today?" Hermione wasn't wearing her uniform or her tie like usual.

"I don't have to wear red and gold all the time." There hadn't been much thought put into the day's outfit. It was the first day of holiday—that meant an old grey jumper, jeans, and the fluffiest socks Mrs. Weasley had ever knitted.

"Red and gold aren' your fav'rite colours?" Dark beetle eyes followed Hermione as she gathered his frock coat and trousers.

"No; I rather like blue, actually."

"But blue is Luna's colour."

Hermione sat on the edge of the bed. "Our house colours don't have to be our favourite colours."

Severus didn't blink or even move at all—he sat still to listen.

"House isn't everything, you know."

"Then why have them in the firs' place?"

"Well…" Hermione was stumped. Those big, black eyes never strayed from her face—it felt like being in a pressure-cooker. In class, he never called on her to answer questions—now, he asked them all the time. _Why do babies cry, why does Luna wear vegetables, where do freckles come from, is that Lavender's baby, what's an enchilada, what is water made of?_

She shrugged. "That's just how life is—people like to be part of groups."

He balled his fists under his chin. Enraptured—everything Hermione said fascinated him. Hermione was flattered.

"So they can make frien's?"

"Yeah, I suppose you could say that."

Severus contemplated the comforter.

Hermione rubbed her arm. _Maybe I shouldn't have said anything…_ Severus—Professor Snape had been part of a very _unfriendly_ group, as an adult. "Hey, guess what."

He peered up.

"We're all going to play outside today."

"Yeah?" The little boy sat up straighter.

"Mmhmn." She nodded and pushed the stack of clothes onto his lap. "After breakfast."

Sev jumped out of the bed, clothes flapping behind him. Hermione plaited her hair; before she was done, Severus bounded out of the washroom fully dressed.

"Where are your jim-jams?"

Severus wheeled around mid-stride, zipped back to the bathroom, and came back with his sleeping clothes in hand. He presented them to Hermione after hastily folding them. She took them and said, "Fetch the hairbrush."

Severus groaned but did as he was told, just as quickly as before. The professors had been trapped in this suite of rooms for two days—they were going mad. Similar noises of rushing and excitement filtered in from the sitting room. Hermione took the hair brush and Severus turned around. He bounced up and down as Hermione brushed out his knots.

As his hair parted, Hermione could see the root-like scar on his neck. She knew Nagini had bit the dip where neck joined shoulder, and she stared at the sharp point jutting out of his collar. The rumpled skin used to be red, but had faded to a coral colour. Hermione hoped he would never see that scar—as long as he wore his usual high-collared shirts and Hermione brushed his hair for him.

"Le's go _ou'side_," he urged.

"Go eat first." Hermione pointed towards the door with the brush.

* * *

Squeals rolled over snow banks as children tramped through them. Sunlight knifed from the powder hiding the grass. In the background, the Forbidden Forest was barren and dark.

Hagrid dragged the twelfth Christmas tree towards the doors of the Entrance Hall. He paused to let Luna check it for Nargles. Hermione's lungs wanted to keep the frigid air out. She squinted at Luna's curly pony tails—they were nearly as blinding as the snow.

Pomona tugged on Hagrid's fluffy coat. "Mi'ss'er Hagrid, we get to decowate it, wight?"

"Of course we do!" Rolanda declared.

"Ask nicely," Neville chastised from the castle steps.

The girl with yellow eyes wilted. "Do we?" she pouted.

"O' course you do!" Hagrid boomed happily.

Fog kept filling Septima's glasses. She huffed every time she cleared them off. Hermione blew the snow away with her wand, so she and Neville could sit on the steps. They watched Luna try to convince Mona and 'Landa to help her examine the tree.

"What do Na'gles look like?" Pomona's eyes were wide.

"Nargles aren't real!"

"Yes, they are," Luna replied without getting mad at Rolanda's sassy tone. "They're very tricky and like to hide in mistletoe—shouldn't we check the Christmas trees too?"

"They'll sneak in?" Septima joined the group, concerned. Hagrid looked concerned too—especially since Nargles were a magical creature he had never heard of.

Neville chuckled while Hermione rolled her eyes, trying not to laugh. Luna nodded, solemnly.

"We should def'ni'ly check," Septima said to the other two.

Minerva and Severus frolicked through the snow, kicking up ice, giggling like villains. They could be siblings, with their black hair—except for their eyes. Minnie's eyes had a green more feline than human. Severus's eyes contained galaxies.

Luna decreed the tree could enter the castle. As Hagrid continued his slog, Septima plopped into the snow and spread her arms.

"Le's make an igloo!" Mona suggested.

"It will be our super-secret clubhouse," Rolanda said.

"Oh, Merlin," Neville grumbled. He looked up at the third-floor windows to meet Ron's eye. Lavender and all three of the Weasleys were warm inside, watching the infants. Neville shook his head. Ron made a show of slapping a hand to his brow.

Neville said to 'Mione, "Madam Hooch is going to be the death of me, I swear it."

"You're a brave Gryffindor," Luna said as she sat down. "I think you can persevere for a bit longer."

"We'll see."

The Quidditch referee coordinated the igloo-building. Mona packed snow into a base and Septima shoved snow closer. Hooch looked over her shoulder, narrowing her eyes at Snape and McGonagall. Meanwhile, Minerva and Severus patted snow into a ball, making a snowman.

"I think they're having trouble," Hermione tittered. The bottom of the snowman kept getting wider instead of taller.

"Hmph!" Minerva kicked the base—her little boot sank into the powder. Severus laced his fingers in front of his mouth, trying to stifle his laughter. Minerva tossed some snow in his face, giggling. "Don' laugh at me!"

"Too late!"

Severus sprinted away. Minerva's legs were longer, but she could never catch Severus. Her onyx braids whipped out behind her as she ran. The tails of Severus's frock coat were always just out of Minnie's grasp.

While they were struggling through the snow, Rolanda, Mona, and Septima finished their lopsided igloo. The three crawled inside to whisper plots while Severus and Minnie giggled and huffed. Their breaths condensed like meteor clouds.

A barrage of snowballs erupted from the igloo. Severus dodged all but the first one; Neville gaped at the reflexes that could only have been honed by an experienced wizard. Minerva stumbled, snow dripping off her green coat. Sevvie had already returned fire by the time Minerva crouched down behind him.

Rolanda yelled, "No bad guys allowed in the fort!"

"Sev is not a bad guy!" Minnie screeched over Severus's shoulder. The two wobbled, she clinging to his sleeve, Severus bending to scoop up more snow.

"All bad guys have tattoos!" Pomona added from the mouth of the igloo. She wilted when Severus turned his black eyes on her. "J-Just like his," she whispered.

"You know nothing!" Sevvie spat. All five of the children were shouting and throwing snowballs. "You're an ignorant bigot who remained complacent on the sidelines! The both of you!"

"You're a bloody wanker and a liar!"

Neville stood up, horrified and confused. "Hey now…"

"Tell the twuth!" Mona bravely yelled. The lisp disappeared as she howled, "It's your fault she's dead!"

"No matter what he says, you'll never believe him!" Minerva yelled as she knocked Septima's glasses askew.

Septima screamed, "Why do you always believe him, Minerva? His job is to lie!"

"Stop it!" Hermione yelled. Friend to Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, she had been in a few spots of trouble—but never had she been so scared. The professors were trapped inside young bodies, throwing around awful, adult words, talking of war while tossing snow.

"You put that snowball down," Neville ordered, specifically at Rolanda.

Severus was shaking. His thin arm trembled with the ball of ice aloft. Rolanda met his glare with one of her own. Septima shoved her glasses back onto her face and disappeared into the igloo.

"Play nicely or you will go back inside," Luna said. She gave Hermione a concerned look. Minnie's angry eyes were filling with water; Mona's lips quaked and Rolanda shook her fist at Severus. The teachers were acting like kids again.

"Sevvie!" Minerva cried.

By the time Hermione turned around, Severus was halfway to the Black Lake.

"He scares me," Mona whispered to Rolanda.

"Severus!" Hermione thrashed through the ankle-high snow.

* * *

_What have I done wrong?_ No matter how many times Severus wondered, he could never figure it out. 'Landa hated him, Septima didn't like him, Mona was _scared_ of him—_scared,_ as if he had hit her or screamed at her. He had never done any of those things to her. Right?

Severus clutched his head as he stumbled closer to the frozen lake. There was something, something he should remember. If he could remember it, everything would make sense.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid Sev'rus!" He stopped running to stomp in the snow. "Remember and stop being scared!" If he could remember how to make everyone afraid of him, instead of the other way around, everything would be better.

An ocean thrashed in Sevvie's head and it made him want to cry even more. Stupid 'Landa, making him and Minnie feel bad. It wasn't fair! Everyone was mean to be him—and then they started being mean to the only people who liked him. Mummy, Minnie, 'Mione—would 'Landa be mean to 'Mione, too?

"No way!" Severus said. The craggy tree he was shouting at remained still. Frost sprinkled over the cold beach, not a hippogriff's length away. "'Mione is bigger and smarter than stupid _'Landa_. She never lets anyone be mean to her!" He kicked the tree—ice dust rained down on him. "Hmph!" He crossed his arms.

_I wanna be big, too. No one would be mean to me—not 'Landa, not Da—nobody!_

Unseen creatures cawed and cackled deeper in the woods. Severus shivered. No way was he going in there. There were werewolves in there. He backed up into a tree. Even in the daytime it was dark in the forest. He backed away, nauseated. He was scared of so many things—it embarrassed him. Boys weren't supposed to be scared—he was supposed to be brave. "Like 'Mione," he muttered.

"Severus!"

'Mione's voice echoed all around. She was looking for him. Severus became misty-eyed—another humiliation. Boys shouldn't cry. But 'Mione's kindness was overwhelming. She was nice and smart and pretty, and Severus was dumb and weak and scary.

"Severus, where are you?"

He stayed firmly behind his oak, and crouched down so 'Mione wouldn't see him. He didn't want 'Mione to look at him.

'Mione started muttering about foot prints. Sevvie looked down—he had left a trail right to his hiding place.

_Dummy!_ Hot tears turned cold when they rolled onto his cheeks, mingled with the snow dust. _Now she's gonna find you crying and laugh at you._ _Why can' you ever do anything right?_

"Severus?" 'Mione put her hands on her knees. "There you are! You're much too fast for an old lady like me," she tried to joke while panting. "Severus?"

"Leave me alone!" he said, muffled, since his arms were wrapped around his head.

"Why?"

Without looking up, Severus could tell she was hurt. "Because!"

Snow crunched under 'Mione's feet. Severus swiveled away, keeping his face on his knees.

"'Landa hurt your feelings, didn't she?"

"No!"

Hermione sat down next to him, even though the snow would melt under her bum. "People are mean to people they don't understand," she said quietly.

"People are jus' mean." He wouldn't look up. His head felt like it was swelling like a balloon, except it was filling with steel nails instead of air. "What's wrong with me? Is there something wrong with Minnie? And the others?"

"No."

'Mione answered too quickly. He glared at her like his father would glare when someone was lying to him. She didn't flinch like she was supposed to. But Sevvie knew she was fibbing. He buried his face again. _There's something wrong wit' me and she won' tell._

"Do you want to go back?" she asked.

"No."

"Aren't you cold?"

"No."

"You're shivering."

"I am not!" His little leather-clad hands gripped his elbows. Black hair fluttered over his crossed arms and he kept breathing the same air trapped between his knees. Snow was turning into water beneath him and he was quivering harder than the leaves in the cold.

He jumped when Hermione pressed the length of her arm against his body. The two were shivering side by side. Sev leaned into her and rubbed his itchy eyes against her woolly coat. She stroked his hair. Her hands were like ice.

"How come you're no' wearing gloves?" he mumbled against her elbow.

"I don't like the way they feel between my fingers."

"You'll ge' sick."

"I'll have you to take care of me."

Hotter, rounder tears peeked out of Severus's eyes. He held onto 'Mione. His throat tightened around, "Uh huh."

"Do you want to go back inside?"

"Nuh uh." He shook his head into her sleeve, probably leaving rug-burn on his forehead. "They're mean."

"Not all of us are mean." Her frigid fingers pushed some of his hair behind his ear.

He burrowed further into her sleeve. 'Landa was mean, making Septima and Mona mean too. Lavender gave him funny looks sometimes and so did Ron. Minnie and 'Mione and Luna were nice. And P'ofessor Weasley and Ginny. That mean Madam Pince made icky, wrinkly faces at everyone—and Mr. Filch acted like he didn't know which foot went in front of the other whenever Sev was around.

Everyone was treating him either mean or weird.

When he brought his face up, cold air swept across his wet cheeks. "Are you my frien'?"

Hermione had very girly eyebrows—boys had bigger eyebrows. Hers were as thin as pencils and were now curving upwards. "As long as you want me to be," she said after thinking about it.

_Thinkin' about it means she's telling the truth, or telling a really good lie,_ he thought.

"I wan' you to be," he whispered and nodded. He slumped against her, miserable, cold, and wet. He wouldn't be any of those things if 'Landa would just be nice to him.

As he watched the wind whip snow into grit across the Black Lake, he thought, _Or if she was too scared of me to even think about bein' mean._


	8. Holiday Cheer

A/N: I am continuing to rewrite the outline and the chapters. Gah. It's been an odd three weeks. For example: Left my nanny job crying two days in a row; got a boyfriend; blow-dried two cats.

Bear with me? And while bearing, give many thanks to my beta PomBear007—BetteNoire

* * *

CHAPTER EIGHT—Holiday Cheer

.

Scotland wind thrashed Hermione's curly mane as she and Luna led the way into Hogsmeade. Snow slumped against bushes and stumps, undulated in whip cream patterns. A Thestral knocked powder out of the tallest tree, clicking his bony mandibles at the smaller skeletons below.

Ron slung his arm around his shivering girlfriend. "We haven't gone on a proper outing since the professors turned into kids."

"I know," Lavender sighed. The blonde snuggled closer into the Keeper's neck.

Ginny made a gagging motion behind her brother's back. Hermione rolled her eyes. _We haven't even had them a week!_

"What are we going to get all the wee ones?" Luna asked, shielding her eyes from flecks of snow. "Have you any ideas?"

"I was hoping inspiration would come to me once we got to town," Hermione replied.

Neville's scarf kept flapping into Ginny's face. "Sorry," he said with an apologetic grin, tucking the scarf into his collar.

"_Some_ of us haven't finished our regular Christmas shopping, yet," Ginny said, rolling her eyes over to Ron.

"The best gifts come from the heart," he said with mock passion. "And my heart hasn't been in it, yet."

"Oh, Ron," Lavender pouted obnoxiously. "I've had your gift picked out for months. You haven't gotten me anything?"

Luna and Hermione traded looks; between them, Neville stuck out his tongue. Everyone tried to cringe away when Lavender's voice often increased in butteryness; it always happened when she talked to Ron.

"Yours was the first I bought, dear heart."

"And the only," Ginny muttered.

The frosted iron gates grew taller as the students approached. "I think they would all enjoy the special holiday edition of _the Quibbler_—they come with SpectreSpecs."

"You'll have them combing the trees for Nargles before the day is out," Neville joked.

"I will buy something for the babies!" Lavender interjected, raising her hand. Luna and Hermione had to part to accommodate her exuberance.

Ginny grinned. "I know exactly what to buy Professor Minnie. I will quickly move into the favourite position—sorry, Neville."

"You can try," he retorted with a teaspoon of sass.

"Neville bribes her with warm milk every night to make her go to sleep," Hermione snickered.

"Hey, cats like milk," he said with a shrug.

"Septima would like a book of puzzles, I bet." Luna twiddled the radish in her ear as she thought. The group left the grounds and wards of the castle. Hermione clutched her wand inside her coat pocket.

"That leaves Snape to Hermione, and Hooch to me," Ron grumbled.

Ginny slapped her brother's shoulder, in a fierce, reassuring manner.

"'Mione, are you sure you're okay with always looking after Professor Snape?" Ron asked from the back of the queue.

"No one else is going to do it," she replied, almost coldly. Poor Professor Snape. All but Luna fidgeted sheepishly.

"It's too bad he's not a different professor, like, I don't know, Professor Lockhart," Lavender said.

Hermione and Ron snorted. "Are you kidding me?" the redhead asked incredulously. "He was nothing but a git!"

"He would have let me die!" Ginny exclaimed.

"Professor Lockhart had a pretty face, but not a single ounce of intelligence in his head," Hermione said as she stumbled over some ice. "He was a charlatan."

Ron nodded with vehemence.

Lavender fell into dull acrimony. "I think Professor Snape might be rubbing off on you."

Hermione certainly tried to channel a Snape-sneer at that remark.

"What's so wrong with that?" Luna asked, scooping up snow in her gloved hand. As she packed it into an oval, she explained, "Professor Snape has been a distinguished teacher and researcher, and a Headmaster—"

"He tortured the students," Lavender interrupted.

"I don't think so," Luna replied without malice. Snowflakes siphoned between her fingers. "That was the Carrows."

"He allowed the Carrows in," Neville mumbled. With Hermione's glare turned to him, he added, "But I do understand that he had to let them be here. And that he actually didn't torture anyone," he said specifically to Lavender.

"'Mione, you weren't here last year," Lavender said with a wave of the hand. "You were out destroying You-Know-Who. We were here, dealing with Snape." Ron's arm shifted over her shoulders. His body pulled as far away from the witch as possible. "If you had been here, you would know what he's like in real life."

Hermione stopped in shin-deep snow. The glare she gave was a brand all her own—a hybrid of indignation and disappointment. The group paused all around her, the Weasley's and Neville bracing themselves. Lavender tried to remain resolute but faltered once Hermione started talking in a low voice.

"None of us know him. And now he's a child—who has nightmares about bleeding to death in a cold, dark _shack_."

Neville clenched his fists. Luna remained as impassive as usual, but her eyes followed every twitch of Lavender's eyebrows.

"Last night he woke up seven times because he dreamt about his own _father_ beating him. And being _branded_ by Voldemort." Lavender lowered her eyes to the ground; she was one of those people that still didn't like to hear Riddle's name. Hermione took a step forward. "I don't know him, but I know he feels remorse. He isn't happy about having been a Death Eater. So stop acting like he is. He's _miserable_."

Hermione trudged through the snow, leaving her friends behind. Luna kept pace with her; Ginny and Neville hung back, to stay in between the two groups. Ron stayed with his girlfriend, holding her hand. Rooftops of Hogsmeade peeked over the horizon in silence.

_I shouldn't have done that_, Hermione chastised, rubbing the space between her eyes. Luna patted her shoulder.

"I think Severus would like something challenging," she said. The Ravenclaw smiled then angled towards the bookstore. Ginny followed, jerking her thumb towards the giant, flashing _Quibbler_ display in the fogged window. She gave 'Mione a grin that would cheer her up while not miffing Lavender.

Lavender walked as fast as she could, chunks of snow splashing over everyone's knees. Ron tried to keep up; when she wasn't looking, he shook his head at 'Mione. The door to Gladrags squealed as he pried it open. The front window had been recently replaced. The Three Broomsticks had scorch marks on the side and pine boughs in the eaves. Hermione wanted to cry.

"Let's go to Zonko's," Neville said at Hermione's shoulder.

She jumped. "Yes."

"I think I saw something for Pomona in there last time I was here." Neville ripped off his hat. "Blimey, it's like an inferno!"

Hermione unwound her scarf as she looked around. Zonko's smelled like doll hair and cotton stuffing. Parents crammed their robed and hatted bodies into the boiling cedar store. The last time Hogsmeade had been so cheerful was during the Triwizard Tournament.

"So…" Neville started. Hermione flicked a wind chime out of the way. "Are you really alright with watching Snape?"

Hermione drew her hands across plastic broomsticks and fake Hogwarts badges. "I'm more concerned with what he'll do after he's an adult again."

Neville side-stepped behind a group of grandmas. Hermione squeezed past, earning a huff from one wrinkled witch—who then made a double-take. Hermione scurried Neville away, knowing the requests for autographs would drown them. School shopping in August took three times longer than usual.

"I dunno what to tell you. I'll back you up, though."

Hermione laughed, remembering a time when Neville would stutter the Bat of the Dungeon's name, tremble whenever a Potions essay was due. "That's good to know."

"Here it is." Neville lifted a tiny plastic cup with a fake plant inside from the shelf. "I saw it on the last trip."

"It looks like a ravioli noodle," Hermione deadpanned as she poked it. The pasta plant opened its mouth and revealed a row of blunt, white teeth. She gasped then giggled.

"I think she'll find it funny." The thing started to dance, showing off now that it had an audience.

"Do you think I should get Severus a book?" Shoving their way to the tills was as harrowing as shoving their way through the rows. "Or a toy? If it's a book, he can realistically keep it and use it when he returns to normal—but he's a child now and might be sad if all the other kids get toys. But what would I get him? I've never seen him play with the same thing twice—"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down." Neville handed her the plant to search his pockets for some sickles. "I think whatever you get him will probably be fine, for different reasons. If he tosses it when he's an adult anyway, you could get him a toy to play with for now, after all."

"Oh, and _I'm_ the one that's as sour as Professor Snape?" Hermione drawled as the line shuffled forward.

Neville shrugged. "Last year made me bitter, I suppose."

"You, me, and everyone else."

"Do you want to look for something here? I rather think he would like a book. He's always reading yours."

"What if I get one he already has?" Hermione chewed on her thumbnail. She really should wear gloves, but wool between her fingers made her cringe. "He'll throw away my copy, sneer at me—and I'll be so used to him being six and smiling at me that I'll run away blubbering."

"I doubt he'll throw it away."

Hermione gave him the dubious look learned from Professor McGonagall.

"He'll do some really impressive wand work and set it on fire."

The seriousness of Neville's delivery made Hermione bellow with laughter. Her ruckus went unnoticed in the boisterous throng. "That _does_ seem more likely." The man at the desk stared at her—either because she had tears in her eyes or because she was Harry Potter's right-hand woman.

The man continued to stare as he wrapped Neville's purchase in tissue paper. Hermione patted down her hair as her laughter fizzled out. The cashier held out his hand for Neville's money without looking at him. Neville cleared his throat, hoping to save 'Mione from the freckled wizard's gawk.

"I don't understand," Hermione said, able to talk at a normal volume outside of the store. "You knocked about five fangs out of Nagini's mouth and none of them treat you like—like—"

"A celebrity?"

"A _leper_," she said as cold winter air swept back their eyelashes. Metallic slush lined Hogsmeade's main street.

"They revere you," Neville reassured.

"No they don't. They revere Harry—they ogle me like I'm an impossible amalgam of brain, hair, and legs."

Neville's face said, _You're mad and I'm confused._

"Have you ever seen an article about me in the _Prophet_ that didn't include a mention of my hair or what type of shoes I was wearing?" The two passed the new _Daily_ _Prophet_ field-office—for "education relations" and "reporting on the progress of the post-war education system"—to get to the bookstore. "To quote Rita Skeeter—'_however_ did you stay so put-together in front of England's two most _eligible_ _wizards_?' It's detestable."

"I'm glad I don't have to deal with those sorts of things." The bag crinkled in his hand.

"We should ask Mr. Lovegood to write an article and all the male heroes and their fashion sense." She swung the door open and let Neville pass, trying to look disgusted at the thought. Hanging just beside the door was the flashing _Quibbler_ sign. Mr. Lovegood had been the only one to believe Harry's story, after the Triwizard Tournament and now had a lot of fame attached to his magazine. He even had an office building in London now, and employees. The only downside was Rita Skeeter also had some clout, having written the article. Clout she used to be as noxious as before.

It was no surprise to see Luna thumbing through the most recent edition of her father's magazine. Over the summer, she had penned her first article—on plants poisonous to unicorns migrating to the Forbidden Forest. It was very well thought out, in Hermione's opinion, and thankfully Nargle free. Beside her, Ginny had a book in each hand, weighing them physically and mentally.

"What have you got there?" Neville asked. This store had a number of patrons, but in a manageable quantity.

"Colouring books." The young witch held them up. "This one is cats—this one is Quidditch. Did you know Professor Minnie was on the Gryffindor Quidditch team?"

"No," Luna and Neville replied as Hermione said, "Yes."

"Of course _you_ did," Ginny clowned.

Luna patted the soft-cover book under her arm. "I've picked out a lovely crossword puzzle book for Septima."

"I got a toy for Mona."

"Help me decide what to get Minnie." Ginny shook the books in 'Mione's face.

"Cats."

"Rolanda might get jealous if you get Quidditch," Neville grimaced.

"Ron is in charge of making sure that doesn't happen," Ginny said. "Let's go find crayons."

Luna hefted her stack of books from the shelf. 'Mione wondered if Sev would scoff at the articles about aliens abducting Muggles or if he would find it enlightening—what if he believed it as a child, then turned back into an adult and his mind exploded?

Hermione grumbled and tried to rub the headache out of her temples. Ginny had to decide what kind of crayons to buy.

"This one!"

"That's as big as Minnie's head!" Neville said over Hermione's shoulder.

"She'll love it!"

The students received some glares for their outburst. Hermione giggled and tried to apologize, ducking into a row of books with the others.

"What did you get Professor Snape?" Luna asked, scanning Hermione's hands for a package.

"Nothing, yet."

"There were some riddle books over there where I got the puzzles."

After ten minutes, the other Gryffindors were getting antsy. "Come on, 'Mione, pick one already."

Hermione turned her back on Ginny, continuing to dither over which book she should buy for Severus. "Funny riddles, number riddles, wizard riddles?"

"None of us are gonna know what to get him any better than you will."

Neville and Luna nodded.

Hermione chewed on one of her nails again. "This isn't good enough," she mumbled.

Ginny would have thrown up her hands if they hadn't been full. "Get them all, then."

"Quality, not quantity," Hermione rebuked.

At that moment, Ron and Lavender appeared.

"Blimey, look at all those bags," Neville said.

"Too much?" Lavender asked. In each hand she had a normal sized bag; Ron held five.

Luna stood on her toes to look inside.

"Sybill and Aurora are going to be _so_ cute!"

The only part of Ron's face visible was his rolling eyes. "Ready to get back? We told Fleur we wouldn't leave the kids with her long."

Hermione scanned the book spines faster. "Nothing is good enough," she repeated. "Let's go back to Zonko's" was on the edge of her tongue—until she saw it. The perfect present for Sevvie or Severus, right there, on the same shelf as the mind benders.

The witch pulled it down, hearing the metal clink in its clear plastic box.


	9. Ambushed

Chapter Nine—Ambushed

.

The group tumbled out into the snowy street, each with varying amounts of purchases.

"There's Granger and the Weasleys!" someone exclaimed from the south end of town.

Camera flashes and feet crunching in the snow followed the students all the way towards the black gates. Ever since the fall of Voldemort, the _Daily Prophet_ had kept a post in Hogsmeade, offering a Hogwarts column. Ron and Hermione made up 70 percent of the reports—usually a report on how well the Gryffindor Quidditch team fared took up the most space. The journalists nearly lost their minds whenever Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived Twice, visited the school. Whenever he and Ginny went on dates, their pictures filled the front page.

"Granger—you don't have any plans to go back to Australia?"

"How is Christmas in the castle?"

"Miss Weasley, will Harry Potter be joining you for the holiday?"

The reporters multiplied, surrounding the war veterans. Lavender shrunk into Ron's shoulder; Hermione tried to forge ahead but couldn't get past.

"Granger, Miss Granger—why aren't you snogging Weasley over there, eh? Had a falling out?"

"Who is this mysterious blonde on Weasley's arm?"

Dicto-Quills and parchment hung in the air.

"What's that you got there—baby clothes?"

"Someone having a baby?"

Ginny shoved her brother forward. "Let's get out of here."

"I bet those baby nappies aren't for you, eh, Miss Granger?"

Mapping Professor Snape's dagger-like lips for six and a half years had come in handy for replication purposes. The sneer she gave Lavender earlier looked like a flinch compared to the silent rage she sent towards the head Hogsmeade reporter.

Ron pulled Lavender through the black gates first, Ginny close behind. Without looking back, Hermione flicked her wand at the winged boars, creaking the iron shut. Some of the quills fluttered through the bars before darting back to their locked-out owners.

"They're so bloody rude!" Ginny growled.

A great black dog came slushing through the snow. "No!" Hermione reprimanded. "Down, Fang!"

"Who was bein' rude?" Hagrid leaned on his spade. A lone tentacle waved out of the hole he had poked in the iced Black Lake.

"The _Prophet_!" The group continued their trek to the castle. Fang hopped circles around Hermione.

"Didn't you see them?" Neville asked. If he craned his neck, he could see the vultures dissipating, their quills tucked safely in their pockets.

The group tossed around diatribes, Hagrid lumbering up to the castle behind them. On the front steps they found a more pleasant group waiting to ambush them. Except for Madam Pince, who was tapping her foot next to Professor Flitwick. He tried to wave over Luna, but Madam Pince would not take the hint. Her face wrinkled with displeasure. "Why haven't they returned to normal?"

"The only person equipped to answer that is currently a five-year-old," Filius replied, more terse than Hermione had ever seen him.

Sev and Minnie leapt through the snow. 'Landa, Septima, and Pomona shoved snow off the front steps, screeching about how cold it made their mittened hands.

"You were gone fo'ever, 'Mione," Severus said as he grabbed her wrist. He glanced at the bag in her other hand, but didn't care to look inside. "Was you shopping that whole time?"

"I wasn't gone that long, Severus," she chuckled, bending down to talk to him. "What were you doing?"

"We helped the house-elves pick out bedrooms!" Minerva said with pride. She hung off Neville's coat, barely making him stumble when she dug her heels into the slush.

Fleur emerged with baby Aurora bundled in every blanket and robe she could find—it looked like she was carrying around Professor Quirrel's turban. Professor Wrinkle followed, tapping Sybill's back to burp her.

"Look 'oo else is coming," Fleur cooed to the baby. Her platinum hair siphoned off her shoulder in the breeze. The rattle of Thestral-drawn carriages manifested.

"Mum! Da!" Ginny called. She set her two bags down on the stone steps to throw her arms around her parents. Mr Brown shook Ron's hand while Mrs Brown clutched Lavender in an intense hug. Xenophilius Lovegood and Augusta Longbottom got out of the second carriage. Hermione tried not to stare at the giant vulture atop Mrs Longbottom's hat. Severus had no such luck—he was gaping. So were all the other kids.

Fleur kissed Bill, with Aurora still in her arms.

"This is Professor Sinistra?" Bill asked, poking the chubby cheek sticking out of the bundle.

Fleur nodded. "Bill…I want a baby."

The scarred man's face turned blank with surprise. "Ah."

Hermione hugged Mr and Mrs Weasley. "Charlie and Percy couldn't get off, I'm afraid," Mr Weasley said. "They send their best."

* * *

Severus observed Mr and Mrs Weasley closer than everyone else, studying their faces. He thought he might know these people. Mr Weasley tossed the end of his scarf over his shoulder as he offered his large hand to Severus. Hermione smiled and nodded at him behind Mr Weasley's back. Severus shook the man's hand, still not having said anything.

"Happy Christmas."

"Happy Ch'ismas," he mumbled back, trying to bury his chin into his neck.

"You look quite fine in your dapper suit and scarf," Mrs Weasley added, shaking his hand. "Remember to call me Molly."

"Yes, ma'am," he mumbled, turning redder each second they gave him attention. Thankfully Ginny interrupted.

She held Minnie on her hip. The seven-year-old was almost too heavy. "Mum, Da, this is Minerva."

The head of Gryffindor shyly held out her tiny hand. Severus reclaimed Hermione's hand, flinching at how cold she was.

"'Mione, you need to wear gloves," he scolded with his little voice.

"You're so right," she affirmed. Then she was distracted by Bill's one-armed hug and a strange handshake from Mr Lovegood—Severus knew it had to be Luna's dad because they both wore Butterbeer caps for jewelry.

The little boy watched Hermione as everyone gave greetings and hugs. She would smile at each person but frown when no one was looking. Her coat sleeve wrinkled when she rubbed her left forearm.

Professor Flitwick introduced the parents to Rolanda, Pomona, and Septima personally. Mr Lovegood's blue eyes stared at little Vector and McGonagall—they had been his teachers, once.

Mrs Longbottom's "Happy Christmas," sounded like a demand.

"Why're you wearin' a duck?" Rolanda asked loudly.

Severus cringed behind Hermione—_She shouldn' talk to her that way!_

Neville nearly fainted.

"It's a vulture, not a duck," the eldest witch of the group replied, quite prim.

"What's you wearing it for?"

"My head hurts," Minerva whined quietly.

Severus was about to ask if she was alright.

Ron yelled, "Harry! George!"

It felt like someone had clapped their hands around Severus's heart when he looked around and saw the man climbing out of a third carriage. Not the red-headed one—the one with glasses and black hair. Ginny launched into the man's arms. Hermione moved forward, and Severus followed, still staring at the newcomer. He clutched the back of Hermione's skirt; her hand was warm on the top of his hair.

Ron hugged the new man and asked some questions about the Ministry. Severus wanted to ask 'Mione what a ministry was, but he couldn't talk. His mouth was dry. His heart was pounding.

"'Mione!" The glasses-wearing wizard noticed Hermione.

"Harry!"

The two hugged and Severus wondered why it felt like there was an angry alligator in his stomach.

When Harry's green eyes looked at him, the alligator jumped and hid in his throat. Severus darted behind Hermione's waist.

"Is that…"

"Harry, this is Severus. Severus, this is Harry."

Giant, black eyes peeked out. The scaly alligator stuck in his neck wouldn't let him speak.

"Happy Christmas," Harry said, looking as jumbled up as Severus felt.

The little boy retreated further into Hermione's shadow. Harry and Hermione traded looks that weren't angry, but weren't happy, either.

Ginny dragged Harry over to see Minnie and Septima. Severus could breathe again. His hair tickled his ears as Hermione ruffled it.

He didn't know who this Harry person was, but he didn't like feeling so…so confused when he looked at him. Part of him wanted to run away and hide; the other part…the other part told him to remember to be nice. That those green eyes were eyes to be nice to. But why? The colour green wasn't so special. In fact, he thought brown was the colour pretty eyes should be.

"Let's all go inside, then," Madam Pince ordered.

"Yes, please," Molly added. The matriarch shuffled the little professors inside, passing Professor Wrinkle and baby Trelawney. Severus didn't notice Professor Walter wouldn't look at Septima until Luna mentioned it to Hermione.

"He avoids her like Wrackspurts avoid Luxembourg," Luna whispered.

"I suppose so…" The two witches watched the Ancient Runes professor dither, letting the children pass him.

"I think he fancies her. Secretly."

"I believe it. They were together all the time before…you know."

_P'ofessor Walter likes Septima? _Severus was terribly confused._ But—but Septima is a—a kid! And he's an adult!_

Now his head was starting to hurt too. "Thanks, Minnie," he grumbled, sticking his tongue out at her.

"What?"

"You made my head hurt. And so does my neck." He let go of 'Mione's hand, falling back to speak with Minnie.

"I did not!" The two struggled up the Great Staircase, their tongues wagging out of their mouths. They were in the back of the group, behind Hermione and Luna. That Harry and Ginny and Ginny's da were waiting at the top of the stairs.

"Do you remember what I sent in my last letter?" Harry asked.

"Something about being nominated as head of the new Defence party, I believe." Severus could tell she was teasing. Besides, everyone knew 'Mione remembered anything she ever read.

"Turns out, they want me to offer some ideas of who should be lower ministers." One more flight of stairs separated the group from the eighth-year's suite.

"I don't know many politicians except for you."

"I want _you_ to be a minister," Harry chuckled.

"Wha's a minister?" Sev asked Minerva. She shrugged; the two continued to eavesdrop.

"Come on, Hermione, we need someone to re-make the Muggle Studies program. You're the only one I can think of."

"Harry, you're not minister yet. I'm sure there are other, more qualified educators than me. I haven't even graduated yet."

"No way, 'Mione—you're the smartest person I know, and you know all about Muggles. You always criticized the stuff Professor Burbage had to teach, and the OWL exams. Now here's your chance to improve it! Remember S.P.E.W.? And how you put together the DA? You've always wanted to be a teacher. You tutored me and Ron, Colin, Neville—you'll be great at it."

"When did you become such a persuasive politician?" she asked.

Harry laughed. "Kingsley has been training me to take over—I'm practicing."

"You know, you've always been a leader, but I never thought you as ego-maniacal enough to think you could run the country." Severus wondered what e-go-ma-naya-kal meant.

"Neither did I."

"He's next in line, you know," Ginny said, hugging Harry's arm.

Hermione looked perplexed. _Next in line for what?_ Severus wondered.

"If the government changed over today, they would vote Harry in." Mr Weasley swung the end of his scarf. "He's very popular—and everyone remembers how he was right when he said Voldemort was back. They trust his judgment."

"Not to mention he's a bloody hero."

"Oh, Harry, do you think you're ready to be the _minister_?" Hermione asked.

"No, not yet. Maybe in a year or two."

Arthur shook his head, grinning at the Boy Who Lived Twice. "Kingsley is itching to get back to the Aurory. He wants you ready in a few months—maybe even March."

Harry's eyes grew wide. Ginny squealed and hugged him. "How exciting for you!"

"Bugger—Hermione, you have to be one of my ministers!"

She shook her head like she was humouring him, shucking off her coat. Hagrid hunched forward to make it through the door.

Harry continued to pester. "Think about it—a new department, working with Mr Weasley's department—with you in charge! Or, you could be the Education Minister. A seat in the Wizengamot, decreeing what kids learn—I can't imagine you doing anything else!"

Hermione chewed on her thumb nail. "I won't be done with school by then."

"Bugger school, 'Mione, you don't need it. You've been miles ahead of everyone since you first got here," Ginny encouraged.

"I'm trying to get my accreditation in Transfiguration."

Harry leaned in close, as if telling a secret through his wide grin. "I can get you another Time-Turner if you're so worried."

"Oh, no, I'm never using one of those things again," Hermione said with vehemence.

Ron came up. "Yeah, do you know how bloody hard it is to shop for an older woman? We don't need her getting any older."

Everyone laughed. Minerva unbuttoned Sev's frock coat for him, warning him to take off his wet shoes soon. A violent twitch in his neck made him cringe. Hermione and Harry continued to debate, walking towards the couches.

Minnie gasped. "Sevvie, wha's wrong? Did I hurt you?"

"My neck hurts."

"What is that?" Septima asked, horrified.

Severus felt something on his neck that he hadn't noticed before—he was too short to look into any of the mirrors, and 'Mione was the one who always brushed his hair. It was attached below his ear, almost on the back of his neck, something smooth, but rumply.

Sev tried to pry the icky thing off but had to bite his tongue so he wouldn't yell. He kept digging his fingers underneath and cringed every time.

"Don't do that!" Minerva pulled his hand, dragged him forward. "You're hurt! 'Mione will know what to do!"

"Minnie, no, I don't want 'Mione to—"

Pomona and Rolanda watched Minerva drag Severus by the arm across the common room. By the time Minerva had forced Severus across the room—he was digging his heels into the floor—Ginny and Harry had wandered off to be alone, so Hermione talked to Mr Weasley about mobile telephones. Their conversation was interrupted by a high pitched, Scottish voice.

"'Mione, 'Mione! Sevvie is hurt!"

"What happened?" she asked. She and Arthur searched for blood, but didn't see any on the boy.

"Look at his neck!" Minerva shoved him closer to Hermione. "I don't know what happened!"

Severus was shaking. Hermione rubbed his hair. "It's alright, Minerva. He's not hurt. That scar is old."

"But he said it hurt! He said it!"

Severus shook his head. His night-dark hair slapped his nose.

"Does it hurt, Severus?" Hermione leaned forward in her seat.

"Mine twinges sometimes," Arthur muttered to Hermione. "He hasn't said anything before?"

Severus tried to make himself tiny. "I—I'm fine!" he panicked, yanking away from Hermione. His hand clasped his neck, hiding it from everyone. His face was turning red.

Hermione stood up and Severus jumped back. He didn't like everyone looking at him.

"Why don't we go find another book to read?" Hermione asked. Her hand was angled towards him. Severus held it, wrapped his fingers around all of hers.

Minerva bit her lower lip and bounced on the balls of her feet. Mr Weasley slapped the seat of Hermione's chair a few times. "Why don't you hop up here, young lady, and we'll talk about cats. I bet you know quite a bit about them."

Hermione watched the little witch climb up in the chair. Severus looked miserable at her side. Screwing her liver out with a pair of pliers would have hurt only a little bit more than looking at this agonized little boy. He pressed his cheek into the back of her hand, holding it. Nausea assaulted not her stomach, but her heart. Hermione peered down at him, her sorrel colored eyes deep with pity.

Their strides were uneven as Hermione led Severus to her bedroom. It was odd; Professor Snape had always walked much faster than everyone else, and now he had to struggle to keep up. Hermione shut the door behind them. Snow colored sunlight flitted down through the windows.

Giant, black eyes looked at everything but Hermione. He clutched his leather gloves and shuffled his feet. How could he be so sad and still be so cute and sweet?

_I guess he doesn't stay cute and sweet, now does he?_ Hermione made sure to smile at him. "Let's look at the Potions book. Want to?" Instead of smiling back, he tilted his head, curling around his snake bite. He blinked several times, cringing, as he tottered towards the bookshelf.

Hermione stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Severus." She crouched in front of him. The two were eye to eye. "You can tell me things, you know. Does it hurt?"

He shook his head. His hand jumped up to grab at the monster in his skin.

Hermione stood up and led him to the washroom. Severus hesitantly followed. She picked him up and set him on the sink. His mouth opened as he reached towards the mirror. He could see the red sprawl on his neck—in his neck—a part of his neck. He pushed his black hair out of the way and tried to see all around. Tiny fingers slid over the ugly, terrifying scar tissue. His breathing quickened and his lips trembled.

In the mirror, Hermione's face was grim. "If you don't like it, you can cover it up. That's why Mr Weasley wears a scarf all the time."

"It's scary," he whispered. Diamond tears caught in his eyelashes.

Hermione trapped him in her warm arms. "Shh, why is it scary?"

Severus shook his head against her collarbones. He was sniffling, clutching her sweater as he knelt on the marble sink. Hermione's eyes began to tingle. "It's alright, Severus." She picked him up, cradling him in her arms all the way to the bed.

The little boy curled up beside Hermione, clutching her jumper. Hermione stroked his hair as he wept.

"Does it hurt?" she asked.

He nodded, scooting closer. Hermione curled around him. He felt ashamed, crying like a girl in front of 'Mione. His head hurt, Rolanda was mean, and nobody but 'Mione and Minnie liked him. And now, instead of just one ugly thing on his arm, he had another ugly, scary thing on his neck.

"Wha's wrong with me?" he choked.

"Nothing."

"I know there's something wrong with me!" He buried his face in her chest. Scratchy wool irritated his nose. "None of the others have an ugly thing on them! Why do I have to have two?"

Hermione shushed him again and he knew he wasn't going to get an answer.

"Shouldn' I know where these ugly things came from?" he asked, almost hysterical. "I know I'm fo'getting things—why 'Landa hates me, and why Mona is scared of me, and why I have this _thing_—" He clutched his Dark Mark without opening his prickly eyes.

He began to sob. "I know my da would be mad, then he'd be mad at Mum, and hit me and her, and he'll be even more mad 'cuz I can't 'member why it's there!"

'Mione hugged him tight, squeezing him into her chest. She was warm and smelled like Christmas candy. "No one's going to hurt you," she whispered.

"How do you know?" he bawled. He was scared—he knew he could get hurt, that there were people who wanted to hurt him. Someone had burned this tattoo into his arm, and Da put out his cigarettes on his shoulder when he was bad.

"I won't let them." Her voice was getting high-pitched.

Severus squeezed his ears flat against his skull. Everything, thoughts and things he should remember but couldn't, like heavy shadows, was piling in his brain and he couldn't handle it. _Everyone always hurts me! _he screamed in his head.

He remembered a snake, a big green one, coming towards him—hanging upside down while people laughed all around—his entire body shaking on the floor—

The little boy threw himself into Hermione, so afraid. He felt safe in her arms, but he couldn't stay there forever.


	10. Christmas

A/N: This chapter gave me a lot of trouble. So I decided to cut it into two separate chapters instead of trying to find a segue way between the presents-scene and the scene after.

Sorry for the long wait~

* * *

CHAPTER-TEN—Christmas

.

Mr. Lovegood had all the children chanting, "Pres-ents, pres-ents, pres-ents!" Luna, Ron, and Neville joined in.

"We're going to open the big one first," Mrs. Weasley said, smiling at the young professors. The five of them sat side by side on the Slytherin bench in the Great Hall.

Mr. Weasley clutched a behemoth curtain, his giant, mysterious gift blocking most of the head table from view. "Drum roll, please!"

The little ones patted their knees while Fleur and Lavender bounced the babies on their laps. The other Weasley's drummed almost as vociferously as the children. Mr. Filch tried to smile, but his muscles didn't know how to do so pleasantly. Firenze declined the invitation; Hermione wasn't surprised. Centaurs didn't celebrate Christmas. Madam Pince was the only one doing her best to stave off the pleasant vibes and peppermint smells of the holiday. Her scowl was starkly out of place next to Hagrid's massive smile.

"What's under that?" Hermione murmured to Luna.

"I haven't any idea. It's quite large."

"Perhaps it's a car," Ginny whispered.

"Why would your da give the kids a car?"

"He let us drive it." George leaned in from behind.

Little hands were going numb from slapping their knees so loud. Arthur whipped the curtain from its mystery.

Neville whistled.

"Cheese and crackers." Ron wasn't nearly as awed as the little ones were. Each tiny body rose from its seat as if by strings; ten eyes rounded; five mouths gaped.

"A swing-set!" Pomona squealed. She straightened the holly wreath on her head.

"Our thanks, Mr. Weasley," Professor Flitwick said as the children sprinted towards the stage. "But whatever shall we do with it once they…return to normal?" he asked in a whisper.

"I don't see why they couldn't make use of it when they're teachers again," Luna chimed.

Rolanda pushed Septima (too high for Septima's tastes) and Pomona swung left to right in the big, wooden seat. Sev and Minnie pumped their little legs as hard as they could, each trying to out-do the other.

Hermione took a seat at the end of the Ravenclaw table. Once the kids found a rhythm, she could stop imagining the horrific boo-boos they could obtain. She thought about little Severus cuddled into her arms, his small body squishy, soft, and warm, his knees digging into her stomach when they slept. The draft in the tower forced Severus to snuggle towards Hermione's warmth. She didn't mind—she wondered how cold it got in the dungeons during winter.

That morning, she watched Sev's tiny white hand curl around her sleeve, his long eyelashes twitching while he dreamt. He must have been dreaming, for his nightmares made him thrash or even whine.

_She stroked his cheek, his feather-soft chin. He could be a little baby doll with a tiny dress. Hermione snorted. Professor Snape had been in a dress, once—he had been Neville's boggart. Hermione ran her fingers through Sevvie's hair, trying not to laugh. _What a horrid dress. And that vulture—I can't believe Mrs. Longbottom still wears that creepy thing!

_Professor Snape had _not_ been cute in that dress. But Severus was the cutest little boy Hermione had ever seen. Giant black eyes, soft black hair, a precious smile. Hermione had the urge to pinch those round cheeks—but she always stopped herself. This little boy was her professor, a man she respected; an intelligent war hero who would kill her, feed her to a dragon, then kill the dragon and scatter its parts all around the countryside if he ever realized she had pinched his cutie face._

"Haaaappyyyyyy Ch'ismasss!"Minnie yelled, hopping from the seat mid-swing. Her green robes and black braids snapped through the air.

"Happy Christmas!" everyone said to one another.

"Let the gift-giving begin!" Bill passed a shiny package to his wife.

Hermione put her heads on her twined hands. _When will they turn back to normal? Will Sev remember all of this? _ The diminutive Potions Master slowed down. He scolded Minnie for not dismounting with more care._ What if he never turns back? Where will they go? _Shipping her professors off to an orphanage was a repulsive idea. But taking care of Professor Snape, watching him grow up, making sure no one pressed cigarettes into his skin…

_Don't be silly. You can't take care of a child. He's not yours, not a pet—you're not his mother. _

Then where was his mother?

Severus stood in the back of the queue around the fir. The young wizard didn't seem to expect much for Christmas. _Is his mother is still alive? _

He rubbed his left arm. It reminded Hermione of her own bad habit. _ How old are Professor Snape's scars? How old are they on this five-year-old boy?_

Wrapping paper floated through the air as everyone tore into their presents. The house-elves had set all the presents under the largest tree in the Great Hall, as per Arthur's request. The enchanted sky above was a clear, frigid blue but the Great Hall was warm and filled with the scent of gingerbread and peppermint. The air itself seemed happy.

Minerva ripped the top off the box of crayons and began coloring the tabby cat on the first page blue. Ginny watched her, giggling. Pomona held her Venus Fly Trap high in the air with a giant grin across her squishy cheeks. Rolanda's yellow eyes stared at the miniature Quidditch pitch, complete with mini Quidditch teams, sitting in her lap. Ron snickered—for once, the girl was stunned into silence.

Sybill and Aurora both wore matching witch's hats as Arthur took their picture.

"Aren't they so precious?" Lavender squealed. Fleur nodded eagerly at her side; Bill chuckled at how smitten his wife was with baby Aurora.

Septima set to work on the first word puzzle in the _Big Book of Mind-Benders_ while wearing her SpectreSpecs. In the seat next to her, Luna read an upside-down _Quibbler_, sporting similar eye-wear. Ginny pulled her new purple jumper over her head. Molly kissed Bill, then Ron, Ginny, and Arthur on the cheeks, picking up their discarded wrappings as she went along.

Hermione chuckled at Mrs. Weasley's cleaning compulsions. Hopefully the house-elves wouldn't be too miffed. The scratching of parchment on wood, a sound Hermione knew well, made her turn in her seat. The witch found a hand-drawn Christmas card in front of her. Severus was blushing furiously across the table, looking down at his lap. He had yet to open the two presents before him.

Hermione shoved the square present closer, bumping him in the chest. She gave him a sneaky grin before opening her card.

_Happy Christmas_ was written on the front in thick, black letters. Inside was a heap of green paint in the shape of a Christmas tree. Red and gold dots and a gold star shimmered like ornaments. _Sincerely, Severus Snape_ had been printed at the bottom.

Hermione held the card to her chest. The fondness for little Sevvie made her heart expand painfully. The boy in question peeled away the green and silver paper on his gift.

"What is it?" he asked as he slit open the plastic cube with his fingernails.

"It's a mind-bender."

"What do I do with it?" He turned the entwined chunks of metal in his hand, observing every inch.

"You have to take it apart."

Sev didn't look like he believed her, for a moment. Then he looked back at the two bent nails. "How do I do that?"

"Figuring it out is part of the fun," she said mysteriously, hiding her Cheshire grin behind Luna's gift.

"Thank you," he said. His giant black eyes were like still liquid under the moonlight.

"You're welcome," Hermione said warmly.

Severus looked away. He pried open the next gift; this one was much smaller and lighter. "_What_ are _these_?" he asked, staring at the mad glasses in his hands.

Hermione snickered and put on her own pair of SpectreSpecs as she explained. Hermione knew they wouldn't work—Nargles weren't real. Even Severus looked skeptical.

"I've never heard of a _Nargle_," he said. His little lip was curling in distaste. Hermione stared at him—that sneer would be at home on Professor Snape. Above the thin lip-line of derision, his SpecterSpecs stuck out on either side of his face. Hermione burst out laughing.

Severus pouted. "You're wearing them too—you look just as ridiculous as I do."

"I know," she laughed. Severus grinned, his mouth tiny underneath the giant, blue glasses. He was glad his glasses weren't pink, like Luna's and Hermione's.


	11. What Severus Overhears

A/N: To make up for the long wait, I wrote a super long chapter. There are some scenes I had in here originally that I had to cut out, but it had to happen, so no hard feelings. Also, my beta has informed me that to be more British, I shouldn't use periods after the abbreviations for Mr. and Mrs. Thanks to PomBear007~

* * *

CHAPTER ELEVEN—What Severus Overhears

.

The common room was packed the day after Christmas with children and the Weasleys and the smell of oranges, but the boiling excitement of Christmas surprises had dissipated. Minnie and Mona colored kittens and cats the wrong colours, using their crayons all up. Luna and Luna's da taught Septima where to search for Nargles.

"They like to hide in mistletoe," Luna's da explained.

Septima looked at the ceiling, searching for the white berries with her SpectreSpecs.

Sevvie wandered from bookshelf to bookshelf, standing behind couches and armchairs, knowing he was too tiny to be noticed. His mouth knew to stay clamped shut when he was being sneaky.

"What about cobbing?" Rolanda demanded. Ron and Bill sat hunched over 'Landa's miniature Quidditch pitch, prodding little figures back and forth.

"That's never okay," Bill explained.

"But what if they blurt me?"

"Then the referee should catch it before you have a chance to respond," Ron said. He pulled the referee figurine over to the fight. "That's their job."

"That don' sound as excitin' as playin'," she huffed, crossing her arms.

"Maybe you'll change your mind when you're older," the wizards laughed.

Sevvie snuck to the fireplace, acting like he wanted to see Minnie's colouring book. She and Mona were both swinging their feet.

"I love cats, I love cats, meow meow meow, meow meow meow," Minnie sang. Pomona hummed off-key, doodling flowers next to Minnie's cat. "I am a cat, I love cats, I say meow, meow meow meow…"

_Enough of that_, Sevvie thought. He crept to the snack table, where Fleur, Ginny, Walter, and that Harry boy were talking.

Sevvie kept his eyes down, like he wanted to pick the best biscuit from the trays. That Harry boy watched him while Ginny was saying, "I don't think she's too young."

"She's mature enough, in her mind," Mr Walter replied, snatching a chocolate biscuit without even looking in Sev's direction. "But what if she wants to see the world, grow as a person?"

"She's seen quite a lot of ze world." This was the first time Sev had not seen a baby in her arms. "Forests and beaches and—" She paused to glance at their little eavesdropper. "Merlin knows what else."

"And Australia," Ginny murmured in that Harry boy's ear. The two of them cuddled all the time, or held hands at the very least. Ginny had her red hair flowing over that Harry's shoulder.

"I just think it's a lot of pressure," Walter said. "For the both of you."

"It feels like the right thing for me to do," that Harry said. "If it's right for 'Mione…"

Sevvie frowned.

"Well, it felt right to offer."

Severus picked up a custard cream to nibble on. He turned to watch the rest of the room, acting like he was walking away.

He heard Luna and Luna's da say they were going to talk to Hagrid 'concerning his Blast-Ended Skrewts and whether or not they posed a threat to the dwindling Crumple-Horned Snorcak population" down in his hut.

Mrs. Molly was tidying up; Mr. Arthur tried to get her to stop. Then he swiveled back to P'ofessor Flitwick.

Behind him, Sevvie heard Fleur ask what exactly an education minister would do.

That Harry boy tried to explain but Severus couldn't follow. Words like _examinations_ and _curriculum_ were just too big, so Sevvie went to find something easier to listen to.

"They float in space—without magic," Mr Arthur told P'ofessor Flitwick.

"But _why_?"

"To broadcast TV waves."

"I didn't know television required such…finery." P'ofessor Flitwick was as tall as Rolanda and Minerva. Mr Arthur made sure his scarf stayed on at all times.

Sevvie stood back, trying to see through the thick woolen scarf, get even a glimpse of the snakebite underneath.

_Does it look like mine?_ The biscuit crumbs prickled in his throat.

"Oh yeah. Muggles are always thinking up new things." Mr Arthur liked Muggles. A lot. Severus wondered if he'd ever meet a Muggle.

Septima snuck out from behind Mr Arthur's chair. "Do we have satellites here?" Some of her scaredness had worn off.

The babies started crying, one right after the other. Sevvie hoped he could help—the wailing made his head hurt. And their crying might make all the other girls cry.

Neville panicked, trying to swing both swings at the same time, but not too hard.

Hermione picked up the smallest baby to pat her back and make shhshh noises. Severus watched her and twiddled the biscuit crumbs off his fingertips.

By the door, Mr Filch watched the babies too. He held his scary cat to his chest, almost like a creepy Hermione with a furry Sybill. Madam Meanie-Head hadn't come in to pester 'Mione today.

"I hope they don't stay like this for much longer," Hermione said to Neville.

"You mean you don't like babies?" He squatted next to Aurora, holding a bottle to her tiny mouth.

"I like them better as teachers."

Severus's eye twitched followed by a stinging ring in his ears.

"Feeling alright?"

Severus jumped at the slightly familiar voice right above his head. George peered down at him, watching too closely for Severus's comfort. But he nodded anyway.

"'Mione said your head hurts sometimes." George took a step back then knelt down to look into Sevvie's eyes. Sevvie turned away a bit, his elbows bending up.

"Only a little." Sev turned pink-cheeked.

"Anything else hurting?"

Sevvie shrugged.

"Like your joints?"

"Joints?"

George pointed to his knees and knuckles and elbows. "Where your bones meet to bend."

"Not really."

"Do your eyes water?"

"No." Did 'Mione tell George he cried, too?

"How about your ears?"

"My ears don' water," he mumbled.

George's eyes widened before he chuckled. "Still funny."

Did 'Mione say he was funny? He turned red again.

"How do you feel about Potions?"

"I'm not allowed to play with 'Mione's potion stuff."

He leaned forward. "I bet you kept trying to look at 'em though, didn't you?"

Sev bowed his head but George kept grinning so Sev grinned too.

"Do you remember how to use your wand?"

"I'm too young to use it. P'offessor Flitwick said so."

George reached across his body into his jacket pocket. Between his freckled fingers he held a tiny gray box. "Christmas cracker?"

Sev hesitantly took the gift. George urged him to open it. Sev cracked the lid—confetti popped out. He dropped the box when a marching band of ants crawled over the rim, clanging cymbals and blowing trumpets.

Everyone was looking at Severus. The ant-band circled around his bare feet.

Aurora crawled over, trying to catch an ant. It turned to smoke in her pudgy hand. Hermione laughed and picked her up.

"Boxed Joy for everyone!" George declared, standing up and tossing the boxes to the clamoring children.

Owls fluttered out of Septima's box; a dry waterfall tumbled over Pomona's hand.

"Those are amazing," Hermione said, balancing Aurora on her hip. "When did you make them?"

"Fred worked out the kinks—same thing he did for the fireworks." George chuffed his hand through his flaming red hair.

It got quiet around the two of them, except for Aurora who kept wiggling.

"Oy, George, let's get some of those over here!" Ron called.

George and Hermione gave each other sad smiles before he moved to the other side of the room.

"He just can't stand to see anyone sad," Hermione sighed.

Severus looked up at her. He tentatively grabbed her hand. She looked surprised but didn't tell him to let go.

"Who's Fred?"

"Fred is George's twin brother."

"Why isn't he here? Is he busy making more boxes?"

Hermione shook her head. "Fred passed on."

"Pass' on—oh." Severus looked at his shuffling feet.

He heard Hermione sigh above him. "That's not very happy talk. Let's go look at those nails, hmn?"

"I can't figure them out!"

As Hermione read her guide to becoming an Animagus, Severus tried to pull his mind bender apart. Lavender and her parents tried to make Sybill stand up, but her little legs were like Jelly-Slugs.

Madam Pince strode into the room and handed Hermione a folded newspaper.

"Miss Granger is in the newspaper," Madam Pince remarked to the room at large. The librarian didn't bother to stay in the room and join the "party."

"Oh, joy," Hermione muttered, tossing the paper onto the table. The holiday edition of the _Daily Prophet_ was printed in festive green, gold, and red ink. The photographs splashing the front and back pages were printed in color. Due to the _Prophet's_ yuletide extravagance, she could see Ron's flaming red hair, Lavender's blonde ringlets, and her own miserable loneliness in vibrant color.

Sevvie looked up when he heard the slap of newsprint on wood. "Wha's wrong?"

"Nothing." 'Mione was sighing her words now.

_Brown and Weasley: Winter's Hottest Couple_ graced the top of the front page in giant, red letters. The byline beneath it read, _Granger Left Out in the Cold._

A fire crackled in the hearth, illuminating Minnie as she chased Rolanda and Pomona around the common room.

"'Mione, tha's you in the picture!" he said, snatching it up.

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" she grumbled. The tables were curiously turned—she was acting the curmudgeon, and Severus was the eager one.

"You don' look very happy in this picture," Severus observed, frowning. He hastily dipped his quill into the ink and hunched over the paper, scribbling something. Hermione tried to see what he was doing, but he shied away, giving her a suspicious, sideways glance. Hermione chuckled, and backed off.

The little boy shoved the paper towards her after he was done. He had drawn some squares wrapped with bows. A little, angular Christmas tree was in the corner of her photograph. Ink-Hermione looked all around her, looking at the presents and the tree. She cracked a smile and laughed. The real Hermione did the same.

"Now you'll be happy."

She ruffled his hair. "You, Severus, are silly."

"Don' presents make you happy?"

"Sure they do. But it's the thought that counts, you know."

Severus cocked his head at her. "It is?"

Hermione nodded.

"Can you put thoughts in a box?"

Hermione laughed. "No. But you can put them in a bowl."

Severus cocked his head again; this time, one of his eyebrows went up.

"I'll tell you when you're older," she giggled.

"Hmph!" He crossed his arms.

Mrs Molly held out her arms for Aurora. "How are you doing, dear?"

"I'm…keeping busy," Hermione laughed, nodding towards little Severus.

She slid into the chair across from 'Mione. "Ron and Ginny said you didn't feel like coming to the Burrow for the hols."

Hermione flattened a dog-eared page.

"I know it's not the same as being with your parents," Molly said, her eyes consoling. "But we have always thought of you as a Weasley. You know that, don't you?"

Hermione nodded. "I know."

Severus kept his eyes on his mind bender but he wasn't doing anything more than twiddling the nails in his hands.

"You've seen how big the house is—you always have a place." The mother put her calloused hand on top of Hermione's. "We're always here for you."

"I know." 'Mione's eyelids were mum's eyes used to shiver.

"You weren't able to locate them at all?"

Aurora stuck her toes in her mouth.

Severus watched 'Mione pull her sleeves down.

"No. I only had two weeks. Australia is quite large."

"I'm sure you could ask Harry, or Kingsley to send someone to help you…"

"I can't burden them like that—they're busy doing important things." Hermione felt the textured weave of the table cloth beneath her fingertips. "I'll just have to go back again next summer." She shrugged. "That's all."

Molly patted Aurora's back. "They don't have those fellytone books?"

"They do—I just didn't know where to start. I guess that will be the first thing I do, next summer."

Severus saw that Hermione was not making eye-contact. She was not liking this talk at all. Aurora reached for him.

"Can I hold her?" Severus asked, looking at a spit bubble forming in the corner of Aurora's mouth.

"Isn't he just precious as a child?" Molly gushed. "It's just so bizarre!"

Severus held the baby tightly in his lap, Aurora facing him and reaching for his lips. "What does _bi-_zarre mean, 'Mione?"

Molly's face turned stark. Hermione's eyes widened. She ruffled his long, black hair. "Mrs Weasley is saying you're cute."

He scowled and turned pink. "I'm not cute," he mumbled, blushing at Aurora. Hermione and Mrs Weasley giggled.

"On the contrary, little Severus, I think you're the cutest future-professor I've ever seen," Hermione laughed, poking his cheek.

Severus turned a brighter red. "Who says I wanna be a p'ofessor?" Aurora stood up in his lap, clutching his collar.

The women exchanged glances, trying to keep the smiles off their faces.

Mrs Molly stood up. With her arms out, she said, "I need to make sure Arthur and I are all packed. I'll take Aurora over to Neville."

"I'll be righ' back," Severus said, hopping up and flitting off.

"Oh, okay…" Sev didn't see Hermione watching his back.

Severus looked at the spines of every book he was tall enough to see. He tugged on Ron's sleeve when he walked past.

Ron blinked down at him.

"Where are pictures of countries?" he mumbled, his nose pointed towards the ground but his eyes angled up towards the bigger wizard.

"In an atlas," Ron said. He pried one off one of the higher shelves. "Here ya go."

"Thanks," Sev mumbled. He clutched the book to his chest and waited for Ron to walk away. Sev watched Ron sit down next to his Lavender before he felt safe enough to relocate to a table with his atlas. "Ah-strail-yuh," he murmured. Did that start with an A? I think this is it…

Finding Australia in the book was much harder than he thought it would be.

Lavender held out her fingernails to paint them bright pink. "Hey, Ron, why didn't any Grangers come to the castle?"

Severus peeked over the edge of the atlas.

"Is it because they're Muggles?"

Ron shook his head. "They're in Australia."

"Are they on vacation?" Lavender gasped. "They went without Hermione?"

Ron scooted closer on the couch. Severus let the book sit flat on the table.

_Why would 'Mione's parents leave her here for Ch'ismas?_ How awful.

"'Mione had to Obliviate them and send them to Australia with new names."

Severus could barely hear Ron.

"She hasn't been able to find them yet."

Lavender covered her mouth.

"Is that why she's so sad all the time?" Severus blurted out.

Ron and Lavender turned, both surprised to find Sevvie talking to them. Ron's eyes darted down to the map of Australia. He nodded.

The good byes started sounding throughout the room. Mr Luna's da had a ratty guitar case packed full of his clothes. Mr and Mrs Lavender's parents came over to hug Lavender and shake Ron's hand.

Mrs Molly hugged everyone at least twice, then swooped in on the little ones. Severus shyly stepped forward into her arms.

"You take care of yourself," Mr Arthur said, patting Sev's shoulder.

Fleur clung onto Bill. Hermione hugged that Harry boy, then Ginny grabbed him again.

Everyone began hording toward the door and down the stairs. Sevvie darted between Minerva and Pomona to get to Hermione. He followed behind her because was with that Harry boy still.

"So, what's the plan if they don't return to normal?" he asked.

'Mione shrugged. "Find some people to cover, I guess."

"Where're you gonna find all those people who can teach?"

"Maybe we'll have to use the Weasleys," Luna suggested. Sev could see the radishes in her ears.

"There's just so many of them," Harry laughed.

The crowd paused in the Entrance Hall. Some snow blew in through the cracked doors. Sev tilted his head back, trying to see the ceiling. It was dark up there.

The big kids exchanged hugs again and the little kids hung back.

"You keep those kids warm!" Mrs Molly demanded.

"You let me know when Dumbledore gets back, alright?" Mr. Arthur asked P'ofessor Flitwick. The shorter man nodded.

George shook Flitwick's hand next, nodding with his father. "I wouldn't worry too much."

Madam Pomfrey came down to wave but said she "had too many potions to brew." She looked right at Sev when she said it; he skittered closer to Hermione.

Her hand was warm on top of his head. "Keep me updated," she said.

"You know I will," that Harry said back with a grin. Hermione sighed loudly, but was smiling too. Ginny gave Harry a big kiss then sent him out the door with everyone else.

"Time to get zese wee ones to bed," Fleur said, holding Aurora up into the air. The baby giggled and kicked.

"Race you upstairs!" Rolanda yelled. Pomona and Septima begged her to slow down. Minnie tugged Sevvie's hand but he let go before they reached the Grand Staircase. He wanted to walk with 'Mione.

The rest of the group trudged past.

"'Mione, by shoe is untied," he said. She knelt down to fix it for him. Sev watched everybody else get further up the stairs and Mrs Norris saunter after Filch. "You can find them, 'Mione."

Her hands stopped moving. Finally she raised her head, her eyelids trembling like they were before.

Sev didn't know what to say, so he nodded.

'Mione looked like she was going to cry. Severus felt like crying himself—he had made 'Mione sad. 'Mione was not supposed to be sad; she was too nice to be sad. Severus sat on his knees and hugged her arm. "You wan' me to help you get them?"

Her lips were tightening as she looked down at him. Severus didn't let go of her arm.

"That's so sweet," she whispered. Hermione pulled Severus into a hug. His eyes widened and he stopped breathing. As she held him, he could feel her shake. He hugged her back, gripping her neck with his arms.

Her brown hair tickled his nose. The two crouched in the middle of the Entrance Hall. Hermione cried into Sev's tiny shoulder bone. For a long time she sobbed, clutching him tighter the harder she cried. "I'm sorry," she choked.

"I'm sorry," Severus sniffled. His tummy felt jumbled up. He shouldn't have said anything. "Don' cry." He didn't like to see people's eyes turn red. "Don' cry."

"I don't want to," she explained, running her sleeve over her blotchy skin. She pulled away from Severus but wouldn't meet his eye. "I haven't…for a while."

Severus leaned forward to look up at her. "Do you feel better?"

Hermione shrugged.

Sev kept leaning.

"A little."

He clambered upright, pulling at 'Mione uselessly to get her to get up too.

"Where are we going?" she mumbled, wiping at her wet face again.

He tugged her towards the Great Hall. "You hafta cheer up."

She still frowned, her face bleary and her eyebrows bent.

"I'm gonna make you," he said as he held onto her wrist and tried to open the doors to the Great Hall.

She helped him shoulder open one of them. "What are we doing?"

"We're going to swing!"

"Oh, Sev, I don't want to—"

He pushed her forward, his little hands in the small of her back. Some torches lit up as they made their way to the other end of the cold, cavernous room.

"It'll make you feel better."

"I doubt it," she mumbled.

He made her sit down on a swing. He hopped up into the other swing and started flinging his legs out. "C'moon," he urged.

Hermione sighed and gave a few little kicks.

Sevvie started swinging higher, swerving a bit because he kept looking at Hermione. She started to kick harder.

_Nobody can be sad when they're swinging,_ Sevvie thought.

Hermione laughed and blew some curly hair out of her face. No matter what she did, it kept flying back into her mouth and sticking to her wet cheeks.

"You're only going higher because you're smaller than me," she teased.

Severus stuck out his tongue.


	12. The Merciful Dark

A/N: Give thanks to my bestie RequiEmily for looking at my work before anyone else, and PomBear007 for being my beta!

* * *

CHAPTER TWELVE—The Merciful Dark

.

11:00 PM

Rolanda, Pomona, and Septima lay sprawled in the bed, each exhausted from the day's excitement. Luna and Ginny glanced at each other across the little girls, and tried not to laugh.

"This is so weird," Ginny whispered.

"I agree."

Ginny giggled. How often did Luna Lovegood admit that something was weird?

The door to the common room creaked open, an inch at a time to stave off the noise.

Ginny and Luna both leaned up on their hands, both sets of blue eyes wide. Rolanda, Septima, and Pomona slept in the bed between them. Hermione tiptoed into the room, leading Severus by the hand.

Hermione put her finger to her lips. Sevvie kept a firm hold on her wrist.

"Where were you?" Ginny whispered loudly.

"Swinging," Hermione whispered back.

"Lucky," Luna added before plopping back into her pillow.

"Good night!" Hermione hissed.

"G'night," Sev whispered as they crossed the room. Luna and Ginny smiled at him.

"That is still weird," Ginny whispered to Luna. She leaned on her elbow so they could talk over the girls.

"What?"

"Professor Snape telling us _good night_ and _thank you_."

Rolanda flipped over.

"I wonder how they'll be different when they return to normal."

"How do you mean?"

"They grew up once and had a life." She held up one finger, still on her back. "And now they've grown up, of sorts, again. They can't possibly go through this formative time without being formed differently."

Ginny was gaping.

"That's what I think, anyway."

"Huh." Ginny didn't say anything for a while. She looked at Professors Sprout's pudgy cheeks. "Will Aurora and Sybill be any different then?"

"Wouldn't it be fascinating if they could remember their infant-thoughts?"

"Merlin, this is making my brain hurt." She rolled over to her other side. "I'm goin' to sleep."

"Good night."

"G'migh," Rolanda mumbled into her pillow, barely raising one of her hands off the coverlet to wave someone off.

Ginny wondered what babies thought about.

.

11:29 PM

Fleur lay on her side, twiddling her wedding band between her finger and thumb. She watched the tiny rise and fall of Aurora's chest, the tiny twitches in her balled fists. The professor wondered if the Defence job was still cursed and then thought of Bill.

.

12:00 AM

Filch patted Mrs. Norris's head once more before turning down his oil lamp. "G'night, missus," he yawned.

Mrs. Norris purred, her belly digesting a fat brown mouse. Her tail curled around her body.

.

12:37 AM

Lavender slept with her head resting on Ron's sternum. Lavender's glowing crystal ball kept Sybill entertained, whenever she would wake up from a prophetic dream.

Ron woke up but couldn't figure out why. Then he heard a series of deep grunts coming from the trundle. Lavender rolled off his arm when he sat up, stealing all the blankets when he got out of bed.

Sybill had her eyes wide open, her fat fingers splayed towards the crystal ball. Her round cheeks kept moving and chomping; sometimes a deep grunt or a low sigh came out of her throat.

Ron didn't know what to do. He was halfway turned to Lavender, her name on his tongue, when Sybill started coughing.

Little, dusty coughs, very cute, extremely welcome after that buggered-up snore Ron witnessed. "What the bloody hell was that?" he murmured, picking the baby out of her blanket cocoon. He patted her back, repeating, "Wha-tha-bla-dy-'ell-was-at? Wha-tha-bla-dy-'ell-was-at? Can you tell me, Professor?"

She was back to sleep, clutching her left forearm. Or, at least trying to. Her fingers were too sausage-like and her forearm too fleshy for Sybill to grip.

"I won't tell Lav if you won't," he whispered as he put her back into her blankets. "Okay?"

She was fast asleep. Ron got back into bed.

.

12:51 AM

Hermione fell asleep as soon as her head found pillow. Sev looked at the patches of red skin and purple veins beneath her eyes. She never slept on her back, but she did tonight.

Severus curled in on himself. he had made her cry. Making a girl cry was one of the worst things somebody could do. Not _the_ worst, but one of them.

Severus felt a sharp knifing in his chest. He remembered two people who looked like that Harry and Ginny hugging and happy and it made the knifing worse.

He remembered some blonde people and a snake in their house. Severus gasped, clutching his little fists to his aching chest. That snake was coming at him.

He opened his eyes and kept them open, trying to get that awful snake out of his head. He looked at sad Hermione finally falling asleep before he did.

Sev never got to watch her sleep, but he could feel her hair tickling the back of his neck a lot.

'Mione flung her arm up, turning towards Severus—Severus jumped.

He calmed down when he could count the freckles on her nose.

He regretted being so curious. He shouldn't have tried to find out why she was always frowning.

He sighed. Couldn't take it back now. He pulled the pillow closer to his face.

His eyes tried to follow one of 'Mione's curls. One wandered all the way across her bent arm.

_Wha's that?_ There was a lump peeking out from 'Mione's sleeve. _Is that a D?_

Severus slowly slid Hermione's sleeve lower on her wrist.

_Mudblood_.

The amount of knives tripled in Sev's lungs.

_Mudblood_.

_It hurts._

Why did 'Mione have this on her arm? _No_, Sev thought, _she wouldn' do this to herself. Why would 'Mione do this?_

He tried not to cry.

_Does it hurt? Is 'Mione hurting?_

He withdrew his shaking hand.

_Why didn' she tell me?_

Sev sniffed loudly, trying to jerk the tears back into his head. Hermione stirred; Sev flipped over, hiding his face under the pillow.

"Mm, Sev, are you alright?" Her fingers fumbled through his hair.

"Uh-huh."

"What's wrong? Did you have a nightmare?"

"Y-yeah." He nodded without turning to her.

Hermione hugged him from behind. "It's not real, Sevvie. Don't worry," she yawned.

Sev couldn't close his eyes and he wouldn't go to sleep. Hermione's breathing evened out.

.

1:38 AM

Neville sat reading in the bed, as he had done last night, until Minerva stopped doing whatever it was she was doing.

The little girl was asleep, but she kept fidgeting, rooting around until she was comfortable. Neville wondered if Professor McGonagall preferred to sleep in her cat-form, and that's why she pawed at the bed each night.

It was bloody annoying; but, he reasoned, it wasn't a comment on his couch-transfiguring skills. The bed he made for her was not uncomfortable—he had checked first.

Minerva flipped over again, making the pink covers fly up all around her tiny body. Because their beds had been shoved together, every time she flipped, Neville felt the vibrations. How could such a tiny little thing make the bed shake like that?

Neville tossed the textbook to the foot of his bed. He hunkered down before reaching for his wand. "She'll stop eventually," he mumbled as he muted the lamps. Minnie didn't like them all the way off.

.

2:11 AM

Severus dreamt of himself but he was older and mean-looking. He stood at the front of a cold stone room, his arms crossed.

He had big black robes and was taller than almost everybody else.

All the students had their heads down to scribble the impressive notes he had written on the board.

Hermione was near the back with that Harry, Neville, and Ron. Ginny and Luna sat in the row in front of them. Kids all dressed as Slytherins sat on his right side, not working nearly as hard as the other students.

Sev started getting anxious when the students pulled out cauldrons and knives. He paced the room, watching Neville especially. Hermione kept trying to help Neville and it annoyed him. Luna was trying out a method that was technically correct but not written in the official Potions textbook.

The Slytherins were tossing salamander skins at each other. All the Ravenclaw hands shot up at once. The Hufflepuffs were all muttering instructions to themselves, creating a low hum in between the rest of the classroom noises.

Every way Severus turned he found something to worry about. Candles flickered off and on; Billiwig blood spilled by his feet and made the stones slippery.

Cauldron steam and cedar smoke blurred Sev's vision.

George and his twin brother ran through the room, tossing boxes at everyone's heads: "Skiving Snack Boxes, get your Nosebleed Nougat right here, good sirs and madams!"

Neville's brew exploded all over the back of Sev's robes and hair.

Dream-Severus sighed. He rubbed his temples with long adult fingers.

Hermione and Luna ran in circles around him, flapping their hands and trying to get the muck off of him. Neville fainted; Ron and that Harry started reading _Quibblers_, ignoring their cauldrons.

The bell rang but nobody left. They worked faster, making more mistakes, trying to finish up before the firsties came in.

Sev sat down in the middle of the sticky floor, Luna and 'Mione trying to clean him up, first-years coming in, Advanced students panicking, and the Weasley twins throwing candy against the walls.

.

3:30 AM

Hogwarts House-elves began their usual rounds. They had to clean up the guest rooms on the sixth floor now that they were empty. The students would be coming back soon.

The tiny creatures flitted and skipped through every corner of the castle, scrubbing and sweeping and mopping the dust away.

Winky stoked the eighth-years' common room fire. She let the blaze warm her back to look at the little professors. Was anybody watching Mistress Sprout's plants? Did Master Snape have any potions left out?

She nibbled her fingernails. Little Rolanda, Little Pomona, and Little Septima were all sleeping—one of the bigger witches was snoring.

.

7:46 AM

Hermione felt someone's heavy weight grow on her chest and arm; her mind created images of strong hands sliding up her torso, over her breasts, onto her bare neck. One of those white, imagined hands held the back of Hermione's neck so that teeth could bite down on the sensitive muscles of her shoulder.

Hermione couldn't dream a face attached to this man but knew the contrast between his white skin and his black hair was achingly beautiful. A mouth fluttered across her cheek, down to her chin. She gasped when she felt someone else's wet tongue across her lips.

She was warm all over but didn't want to wake up. The man had a hold on her hair. As Hermione dreamt of cold hands sliding over her hip bones and thighs, Severus snuggled closer. His lips parted right on her collarbone, his breath on her skin.

Sleeping Hermione tried to roll away, a niggling in her brain reminding her of the five-year-old in her bed. Dream-Hermione bit and licked at her make-believe paramour, scratching deep welts into his pre-scarred skin.

Severus threw his arm over her stomach; Hermione imagined a throb in the middle of her gut, painful but wonderful at the same time. The hurt moved between her legs; she didn't want to breathe in case her rising chest might chase away the blood rushing to her thigh muscles.

The man kissed a line from Hermione's clavicles, bridging the Dolohov scar, down to her belly button. His long nose tickled the peach fuzz skin on her stomach. His hands felt cool, pushing her shirt away from her abdomen, then pulling her trousers from her hips.

Hermione jerked awake. She plopped back into the pillows, shutting her eyes against the barely risen sun. "Ugh," she mumbled. Her left arm felt like a fallen log, a heavy dead-weight attached to her shoulder.

She turned her head on the pillow, reluctant to fully open her eyes and fully wake up. that dream was…nice. Unexpected, certainly. Definitely not something she should be dreaming next to a tiny Severus. She pouted. _Yes, I definitely woke up because I didn't want to have such a dirty dream next to him_. A smaller part of her mind mumbled about poor timing and maybe a late-afternoon kip wouldn't be such a bad idea.

She snickered then blew her curls away from her nose. That weight from her dream, the arm across her stomach—why could she still feel it now that she was awake?

Hermione cracked open one eye, seeking out the conundrum. There was her stomach, the shirt half-up. And that was an arm. A long, sinewy arm with a Dark Mark on it.

Hermione's heart raced uncontrollably, eyes sucking in the black snake and skull; a pair of lips on her neck; a strange leg tangled around her knees; a mass of long black hair pressing into her cheek.

She lay paralyzed. Sevvie had turned back into Professor Snape. With one of his arms snuggling her breasts.

.

7:49 AM

_Thump_!

Ginny woke up in a panic, hoping one of the kids hadn't fallen out of bed.

"Bloody hell!" someone yelled.

Ginny stared at the girl on the floor—the 28-year-old girl with short grey hair and yellow eyes, rubbing her bum. Luna gave a little yelp when she came face to face with adult Septima Vector—who was blinking, blind without her spectacles.

Pomona stretched on the bed, cramped, now that she was the proper adult-size.

"Oh, dear!" Luna said.

.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Aurora Sinistra cried, trapped in a baby crib. Her cheeks flushed as she covered her naked torso. Fleur covered her eyes and jumped up to find a robe for the 16-year-old.

"Mon Dieu! You're back to normal! Wait—" Fleur ground to a halt. "Why, you're not very old at all!"

"Who are you? Why am I in this bloody thing? What do you mean, _normal_?"

.

7:50 AM

A disapproving, Scottish voice ripped through Neville's sleep. He opened one bleary eye. "Hmn…?"

"I said _wake_ up!"

A beautiful, pissed-off, 27-year-old Minerva McGonagall lay in the next bed, black hair cascading down her back and pooling on the sheets beside her.

"Merlin's pants!" Neville sprang away.

"What in Heaven's name is going on here?" The pink t-shirt she had worn as a dress last night had ripped at the shoulder and squeezed her breasts tight. Neville had the suspicion she was not wearing hardly as much clothing beneath the quilt—he turned as red as an apple. And then he screamed.

In the next room, Hermione screamed as well.

Severus toppled over the other side of the bed. "What the bloody hell—" His bedraggled head appeared over the side of the mattress. He stopped at the sight of a breathless, beautiful woman staring at him, clutching the collar of her thin, grey night shirt. The swipe of skin, the strip of midriff left showing, drew Severus' eye for a second—before he looked at her face.

The barest traces of lust were left in those sleepy eyes and her panting—if Severus wanted to walk any time soon, that would have to stop immediately. An explosion of noise from the other room kept the two of them from hyperventilating.

They heard: _"What is going on?"_

"_We're young?"_

"_We're young!"_

"_Guys, Professor Trelawney is twelve—oh my gosh! You're all older too!"_

"I'll—I'll find you something to wear!" Hermione squeaked as she tore from the room. Ginny and Luna stared at her, then whipped around to Hermione's bedroom door, realizing that she must have awoken to a stranger in her bed—a stranger that looked like the Greasy Git of the Dungeons!

"I bet Hermione had a right scare," Ginny murmured to Luna.

Hermione came back with a pair of trousers from Ron and some shirts from Neville, all grabbed haphazardly. Curls were flying everywhere, and if she stopped for air, she would remember Severus—Professor Snape—Severus half-erect in too tight pyjamas, his long nose jabbing the dip in her shoulder—_shut the bloody hell up!_ she chastised.

She tossed the clothes on the bed, hardly glancing at the man curled up on the floor wrapped up in her quilt. She grabbed an armful of her clothes to take to Minerva.

Luna gave Sybill some mismatched clothes to wear, and the seer was ecstatic about them. Ginny transfigured some clothes to better fit Rolanda and Pomona. Neville walked out into the room, his eyes covered, his hand reaching out to let the furniture be his guide. Hermione grabbed him by the arm and shoved him into Ron's room.

She slammed the door and braced herself against it, her arms ramrod straight and her head dipped low.

Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom, brave Gryffindors that had fought, and nearly died, in a war, stood blushing—Ron sat on the bed and stared at them.

"What's wrong with you two?" Horror blossomed over his freckled face. "Merlin's pants—you were—and they were—and—in the same bed?"

Neville sat on the carpet, listing off all the flowers in the greenhouse to try to push the image of a blushing, nubile Professor McGonagall out of his mind.

.

8:24 AM

The professors and their students gathered in the sitting room after a mad-dash for clothes. Ron kept stealing glances at Minerva, with her long raven hair and even longer legs. Hermione's shirt was too tight across Minerva's chest. The woman was tall and her hips were round. Her green eyes were exquisite, almost as spellbinding as Severus' deep, black eyes, the ones Lavender kept trying to gaze at.

Severus Snape, greasy git of the dungeons, had turned into a dark and mysterious young man. He was thin, with obsidian-polished hair and eyes. The shadows had disappeared from his face, and Hermione had noticed, from her brief, glorious glance at his taught abs, that several scars were missing.

Luna was observing each teacher, enthralled and excited to see their changes. Sybill swung Lavender's and Ron's hands. The only clothes that would fit her were some of Luna's jumpers and a polka-dot skirt. Neville kept his eyes on the floor. He had woken up next to a goddess—a goddess that was his 66-year-old Transfiguration teacher. He turned as red as Ron's hair.

Severus was stuck wearing one of Neville's grey t-shirts and a pair of Ron's ratty jeans. He kept his arms crossed to keep his Dark Mark hidden. Little Sybill hid behind Lavender whenever she peeked at the tall, elegant Severus.

Professor Snape glowered at everyone in the room—except for Hermione. He wouldn't even look at her. Hermione was still flushed from the erotic start to the day.

Even Luna was sneaking glances at the young man, as she surveyed everyone else. Ginny's mouth was open—she had been expecting him to look as frightening and angry as he had as Professor Snape—this guy had a long nose, but the rest of him made up for it. He was stick thin and tall, with the darkest eyes and hair Ginny had ever seen—actually, he was all those things as an adult, but nobody dared be caught staring at the Bat of the Dungeons lest they get detention. He had never laughed, or had a decent conversation with anybody, so not many girls had bothered to even daydream about him—they had nothing to go on.

While all the girls were staring at Severus, he was looking at his former teachers and colleagues. The last time he had seen Septima and Minerva with color in their hair, he had been a child. He rubbed his forehead, hiding his grimace. "This is bollocks," he muttered.

"I look amazing!" Rolanda said, flexing her muscles in the wall mirror. A football player wouldn't be more toned than Madam Hooch.

Pomona had not yet gained all of her weight back, but she felt quite inadequate, standing between Fleur, Minerva, and Rolanda. Septima straightened her glasses.

Aurora was the last to arrive. The young woman shuffled into the room, wearing a dress of Fleur's, and a jacket. She stood next to the only other Slytherin in the room, ogling young Professors McGonagall, Vector, and Sprout. Pomona, Rolanda, and Septima were now in their thirties. Professor McGonagall was about 27 now, and Severus was even younger.

Severus put his hands in the pockets of his borrowed jeans as he frowned at Aurora.

"You didn't even look this young when you were teaching me," Aurora said, remembering being in one of his first-ever classes.

Severus rolled his eyes and left the room. Minerva left as well, anxious to see if she could remember how to turn into a cat.

Rolanda dragged Pomona outside to the Quidditch pitch. Aurora crumpled into the couch, staring at her thin, 16-year-old wrists. Professor Trelawney was as happy as a Niffler in a goldmine. She plopped down to her knees and tried to read Aurora's palm.

Septima's chin trembled. When Professor Wrinkle walked in and gaped at her, the mousy-haired bookworm ran out of the room.

"Wait, Septima!"

Hermione stayed for a bit, making sure her friends weren't as rattled as she was (Neville was still as red as a full-grown phoenix).

She ambled towards the dungeons, wondering what she was going to say to the man who had been her mean professor, a child, and then woke up wrapped around her this morning. A few deep breaths later, the crimson flush left her face—the cold, dank air of the dungeons helped as well. The further down she traveled into the intestines of the castle, the darker it became.


	13. Adults

A/N: One reviewer asked for their current ages, and I am helpless but to oblige.

Severus: 20; Minerva: 27; Septima, Rolanda, and Pomona are 29, 30, and 31 respectively; Walter is 40; Sybill is 12; Aurora is 16.

* * *

CHAPTER THIRTEEN—Adults

.

Severus didn't know what to do with his long arms and legs; his hands were two giant claws getting in the way. He looked around the Potion Master's office. He wouldn't have known this was _his_ office if Filch had not escorted him down here, still staring at him like a creepy berk. As was his cat.

Asphodel soaking in worm-brine shimmered above the doorjamb. Every knife and stirring rod was in its proper place—he knew they were stored correctly, and that he must have been the one to do it, but he couldn't remember putting anything away. Or how he had acquired them, or become a teacher.

This situation was bizarre. Yesterday, he had been a child; today, he was no older than a student. His head felt heavy, full of iron every time he tried to conceive of what was happening to him. He was eighteen years too young and his body could feel that things were not right.

Memories, random things, kept coming back at odd times, though he had only been awake for about two hours. Eighteen years were gone. He had been a part of a war and couldn't remember it.

He slumped into the most uncomfortable chair he had ever seen (or felt), knowing he could have sat in the professor's chair behind the desk. But he didn't.

_It's supposed to be my chair, _he thought, putting his head down on his arms_. It is my chair. _

_What a stupid argument to be having,_ he chastised. He was interrupted by a knock at the door he had left open.

.

Hermione could see a sliver of the gloomy office and a pale hand dangling over the edge of the desk from her place in the hallway. Black hair spilled over young Professor Snape's arm. Without lifting his head, he waved his hand so the door would open further. He was sitting in the student chair instead of his own.

As Hermione walked in, he turned his head, angling to see her. His lips hinted at a sneer.

_I should have planned what to say._ It was very strange to look at this different version of Sevvie—Professor Snape. "Are you alright?"

He was half-twisted in his chair, his crossed arms still on his desk. "I went to sleep as a child and woke up as this. So, no, I'm not _all right_."

Hermione bit her lip and tangled her fingers together. "Well…do you _feel_ alright?" _ This is horrible—he's horrible again—I shouldn't have come down here, _she thought.

He relaxed his eyebrows as he turned back to face his desk. "Pardon my temper. I feel fine."

Hermione's mouth came open.

"Now you're staring at me." He glared the door, probably wishing he could run through it.

"Sorry, I just…you don't really apologize, much, I guess."

Severus gazed at his left arm, at his Dark Mark. "I don't remember much. But this. I can remember getting this."

"I bet," Hermione mumbled. She covered her mouth, afraid—the Professor Snape she had always known had _never_ tolerated references to his Dark Mark.

His black eyes glanced over at her. "Judging by your stricken face, I would say the future me does not allow that sort of remark."

"Sorry, Professor," she said at the flagstones.

"I don't even remember becoming a professor." There was something of a pout, disappointment mostly, on his face. "How can I possibly run a safe classroom?"

"I know you're able to teach at this age," Hermione said, sounding confident.

"And how would you know that?" he drawled.

Hermione lifted her chin. Sevvie had never talked to her that way—he always accepted what she said, wide-eyed and fascinated most of the time. But he had regained his deep voice and cold eyebrow. He was the intimidating man again instead of a sweet, lonely little boy.

"I know the OWL and NEWT scores of every professor here, and I know all of their qualifications. You became the Potions professor of Hogwarts at age twenty-one and tested for your mastery two years later."

Snape's eyes grew wide like Sevvie's would.

"And…I've seen your work from your school days." _Scrawled in a book—still counts._ "Teaching even the seventh-years should not be a problem for you."

Severus composed himself; his sneer, on thirty-eight-year-old Snape, had frightened hundreds of students. But, as Hermione could feel in the pit of her stomach, it elicited quite different reactions when found on the twenty-year-old version's face. When an adult glared, it was intimidating; when a peer did it, it was inebriating. That's why ninety-seven percent of the female student population always found Draco Malfoy attractive.

"Have you always been so preachy?"

"Yes."

That clearly was not the reaction he was seeking. He changed tack, thankfully; he was going to allow conversation instead of trying to intimidate her out of the room. Hermione had seen him do this to other professors, but no student had ever passed that test so easily before.

"What student is going to listen to me now?" he asked, scowling at the rows of jars behind his desk. "I hardly look any older than you."

Hermione pulled her hair over her shoulder. "I'm 20. So we may be the same age. That doesn't mean the other students won't respect you."

"Aren't you a little too old to be in school?" Severus looked flippant but was eyeing her, observing her. He had never noticed 'Mione was older than Ron and the others.

"Extremely," she said, airy. "A Time-Turner and a war kept me from finishing on time."

Severus averted his eyes. He denied the desire to rub his Dark Mark. Somehow, he knew there had been a war, could feel he had been a part of it. But he couldn't remember. "Why did you come back to school?"

"I wasn't done learning yet."

The man looked taken aback before he smiled.

Hermione was stunned. A real smile was on his face; he looked almost embarrassed about that smile; he looked down, then observed the shelves.

"That's a very interesting answer, Hermione."

While he was observing the meticulously ordered shelves, Hermione was observing him. He could feel her eyes on his back and shoulders. The tingling under his skin didn't bother him.

He turned his face away from her so she wouldn't see embarrassment crawling up his cheeks. The tingling didn't bother him one bit.

Her breathing was quiet, but louder than the dungeon silence. It may have been the cause of all the heat in the basement, but Severus didn't think so. He thought he imagined it, remembered the warmth from sharing a blanket at night.

Who had been the dunderhead that allowed him to sleep in the same bed as a female student? And allowed Minerva to sleep in the bed with some randy, teenaged boy? A bawdy Gryffindor no less?

_You're the one being bawdy,_ he thought. Yes, the office was definitely too warm. And too small.

How could he be thinking of 'Mione's flat stomach and curved legs while she stood right next to him? She had read him _Beedle the Bard_ for Christ's sake!

While he was busy dithering, Hermione came closer. From the corner of his eye, he saw her hand approaching his bare neck. He hadn't realized how much of his scarred skin had been exposed by Ron's t-shirt.

'Mione was so close the hybrid scent of peppermint and candied oranges trembled at his nose. He didn't turn to look at her. The proximity of her fingertips to his skin made his fine hairs reach forward. But she never touched him.

He asked so quietly he could barely hear himself: "What is it?" She knew his scar was there. Why was she gawking?

"It's gone."

_It's gone?_ A moment passed before he understood. The scar. His hand moved so quickly to his neck Hermione jumped back.

She reached out then drew away—she was going to search his back and chest for more scars before she realized he wasn't five-years-old anymore. He was sad she hesitated.

To mask whatever emptiness he had in his stomach, he asked, "What happened?"

Hermione pulled her hair into her hands and began twisting. She didn't want to tell him. "You were bitten by a snake. Voldemort's snake."

He had dreamt of a snake. Frequently.

"He found out you were a traitor. You were…quite mad, when you woke up, afterwards. At me." She tugged her braid, looking at anything else but him.

"Why?" Had she done something to encourage an attack? He could remember being branded, but couldn't remember the appeal of the Dark Lord. Lily hated the idea—

Severus bent almost at the waist, clutching his mouth and gut simultaneously, hoping to keep down the bile.

"Severus!"

Lily. Lily was dead. He had done it. Drove her away. Told the Dark Lord the prophesy, incomplete as it was. He had done it.

Hermione clutched his shoulder, squeezing anxiously. "Sev, what's wrong?"

He thought about Lily hopping off the swing—and then Minnie hopping off in the Great Hall—then 'Mione blowing the hair out of her face every time she swung forward. It was too much. He had seen too much.

His intestines quivered. _I wanted to die_. _Lily._

* * *

Minnie lay curled up on the topmost row of the Gryffindor section. The sun felt glorious on her grey fur. She felt so free, so unburdened without those robes and skirts and stockings. She did miss her long braid, though.

Below, Mona stood in the snowy Quidditch pitch, watching Rolanda whiz about. Rolanda hooped and hollered, imagining a Quaffle in her hand—a zoom—a goal!

"Ten points to R. G. Hooch!" she bellowed.

Pomona clapped.

Rolanda swooped down, hopping off too soon and stumbling in the snow. "I feel great, don't you? Wanna go for a spin on the old Comet?"

Pomona shook her head. "I'm afraid I do better on tera firma."

"What a fuddy duddy." Rolanda swept her fringe out of the way. "I need a haircut. Why's my hair so long? It bothers me."

Pomona shrugged. "Shall we check out the greenhouses now?"

Rolanda shouldered the broomstick. "So, I've been thinking."

"About?" Pomona asked as they shucked towards the exit.

"About the future. Or, I reckon it's the past, right? You know what I'm talking about?"

Pomona nodded. "I guess. How we are normally."

"Yeah. I keep remembering Charity."

Minerva stood up on her four paws, the old wood scratchy against her pads.

"Me too."

"And how Snape got her killed."

Pomona didn't say anything.

Minerva dug her front claws into the worn-down seats.

* * *

Severus squatted next to his desk, Hermione still holding his elbow, her other hand rubbing his back and neck and shoulder, whatever part of him she could reassure.

His stomach acid had retreated. But his lungs felt tight. Hermione was smothering him and he didn't mind.

"Are you alright?"

But that didn't mean he could speak. Lily was dead. What had been the last thing she had seen? He swallowed back more vomit. The Dark Lord. Or that Harry. Her son. Potter's son.

"I'm fine," he croaked. He liked when her palm flattened against the curve in his spine.

"Are you sure?" She tried to coax out a positive response by nodding.

He rubbed his eyes, his elbows on his knees. Is this what it felt like to be older? Hurting everywhere but not seeing the cause?

He swallowed the burn in his throat. "Just nauseous," he lied.

Hermione sat back on her heels.

Severus's elegant hand felt the top of his head, trying to push the headache back down. Hermione wondered how he could make sad so sensual and then blushed.

"Does your head hurt?" she asked.

Long fingers pressed into the sinus cavity of his cheek. "Immensely."

"I think you'll be able to teach just fine," she encouraged, though she was afraid he might overwork his brain while doing so.

The man's lips thinned and he rubbed the back of his neck. "The children will all try to take advantage of my young age."

"Did they do that before?"

"They do it to everybody. They can sense weakness, like sharks—except they can talk."

Hermione laughed at his interesting analogy. "I can't imagine anyone would forget the rules of the classroom that you've scared into their heads."

"I should hope not." He used the desk to haul himself to his feet. "I'm more concerned about Minerva and Aurora."

Hermione took his offered hand. "They might remember things before term starts."

"Aurora is younger than her oldest students—they're going to walk all over her." He leaned against his desk. "And Minerva—little boys are from Hell, and they're twice as devious as demons when they're thinking with their rampant hormones."

_Like that Neville, _he thought._ He looked pretty guilty when he woke up this morning. Like you're anyone to talk!_ his mind butted in.

"Little boys are not from Hell," Hermione giggled. "Fleur is pretty, and she hasn't had problems—right?"

Severus's eyebrow had gone up, dubious, before she had finished.

"Has she?"

"She came into the staff room, complaining, for the first month, of several young men trying to gauge her receptivity." _Now how did I remember that?_

"She never mentioned a thing," Hermione murmured.

"Would you tell everybody if the same thing happened to you?" he asked as he moved towards the door.

"No, I suppose not." Hermione waited for him to lock the door before they ascended through the dungeons. "I'm not entirely sure she likes teaching, actually."

"Are you going to be teaching?" he asked, his eyes slanted towards her though he kept his chin forward.

Eyes down in self-review, she said, "I'm not sure yet. That's what I wanted to do, but now Harry wants me to run a ministry department." Talking with older Severus was not as intimidating as Hermione had feared it would be.

"You sound unhappy about that."

"I think I'm too young for so much responsibility."

"You can kill the Dark Lord but you can't run a ministry department?" A smirk tainted his lips.

Hermione grinned at him. "That's a little bit different." That smirk had always been sexy but coupled with his youth, and a baritone conversation, Hermione had to focus very hard on the topic at hand. "If Harry would wait until the summer….I think I would do it. But I really would like to get my certification. I mean, I'm already halfway done. It would have been a waste of time, if I didn't finish it."

"You can't do both at once?"

"I could—but I know that once I get in that office, I won't stop 'til everything is perfect. And, I don't even know what Harry wants me to do—fix the Muggle department, or do the education program, focusing on Muggle Studies, or fixing it completely—he's doing it on purpose—he knows I'll keep thinking about it if he doesn't give me all the information." She began talking very quickly. "Everyone will tell me not to finish the accreditation until I have more time—and Harry will offer another Time-Turner, and I'll end up throwing away another year of my life, all because I can't stop myself from wanting to know more!"

"Tell him to wait."

Severus was so soft-spoken, she didn't hear him over her rant. "Sorry?"

"Tell him to wait. He can assign someone to your place temporarily. They are modeling it after the Muggle ministry, aren't they?"

"Yes," she said, nodding slowly. "I suppose I could ask him…but what if that person starts implementing programs that I think are stupid? And what if they challenge their removal and my replacing them? They'll say I'm not qualified, or Harry's using favoritism, and that I'm a mad harpy who will try to force everyone to give up their house-elves—"

They both paused in the low-lit corridor. "Have you always been this anxious? Why have I not seen it until now?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, rubbing her forehead. "I panicked when I had to watch you, but I made sure you didn't see. Not healthy for children, and all."

"If you're so worried, tell Potter you will do it _only_ after you graduate." He tucked his hands into his crossed arms.

"I never said I would do it."

Severus grinned; it was slight, almost nonexistent, but Hermione could see it. "I think we all know you want to do it. You're just nervous about it. You've never been a minister, I assume."

Hermione chuckled. "No, I haven't." She peeked up at him. "You think I should do it?"

"Don't ask a former Death Eater to help you make important decisions. It never turns out." Depression and regret coloured his expression.

She leaned forward, whispering as if she were telling a secret. "I don't consider you a Death Eater, you know."

His face ten percent teasing, ninety percent challenging, he asked, "What do you consider me, then?" The two were very close.

"A very complicated person." She returned to her state of perfect posture. "A complicated person that should help me make this decision."

They began walking again. "Wouldn't you rather take career advice from Minerva?"

Hermione faltered. "I—well, Professor McGonagall didn't follow me around for three weeks." Professor Snape wanted her to go bother someone else with this.

Severus could sense she was about to leave or to change the subject. "Can you think of any other career you would like better?"

"I don't know, being a real teacher might be nice."

"You should do what you want," he said. When he wasn't scowling or sneering, he just looked sad.

"I don't know what I want."

The corners of his lips twitched upward. "That's probably a good thing. You'll always have something to strive for."

She smiled at him.

Severus's out-of-control hormones wanted nothing more than to bend Hermione over a table and find out in the most enjoyable way possible if she was a virgin every time she smiled at him. His stomach felt nauseous, forced to house both feelings of lust as well as disgust. This girl was his student; he was not the same age as her, but thirty-eight. Besides—he hadn't cared to sleep with anyone or even consider it for fifteen years—why start now?

_Easier said than done, with this body,_ he thought as they approached the doors of the Great Hall.

"How do you know so much about Muggle parliament, anyway?" she asked as she examined her split-ends.

"I am half-Muggle, you know. It's odd that didn't come up during my stint as a child."

Brown eyes slanted up at him. She paused in front of the door. "I tried not to pry, you know."

"I'm sure that took all of your considerable reserves of self-restraint," he smirked.

Hermione tried to look angry but the grin peeked out. Severus looked over her shoulder when he heard the doors to the school creak open. Hermione wondered why Severus's face had changed into angry surprise.

When she turned, she saw a ninety-year-old man with a long, white beard strolling towards them, his purple and silver robes sparkling under the torch light.

"Professor Dumbledore?" she asked.

* * *

Hermione sat at the back of the room, behind all the teachers, staff members, and babysitters. Severus, Minerva, and Aurora sat in front of Dumbledore's desk. Fawkes blinked at them all. Sunlight filtered through the thick glass windows then sparkled off the bird's feathers.

"I notice you are looking quite a bit younger, Albus," Severus said through clenched teeth.

"I suppose this was your revolutionary new treatment?" Minerva asked, almost as terse as Severus.

"Yes," Dumbledore replied, with his infamous grandfatherly smile on his face.

The resplendent office was thick with unspoken questions.

"I assume whatever affected you affected everyone else as well," Ron finally said, forging ahead. Little Sybill swung between his and Lavender's hands.

"That is the tricky part—it shouldn't have," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard.

"Headmaster, how was the treatment given to you?" Everyone turned back to Hermione. She was sitting at the back of the crowd, arms and legs crossed, leaning forward to listen.

"I have been sworn to secrecy," he replied, airy. Minerva rubbed her temples with a sigh, and Severus's fists clenched.

Hermione pressed on despite his reticence. "I don't need to know names, or specifics, yet. Was it a spell?"

"No. It was a powder."

"No one else knew about this?"

"No. I left as soon as the powder was administered."

Severus's head snapped around. "You left here?"

"Yes. Straight from the hospital wing."

Hermione sat up straighter. "The powder was in the hospital wing? Did any of it get in the other potions? Spill anywhere?"

"I don't believe so."

"Excuse me, Albus?"

Everyone except Sybill turned to the portrait of former headmistress Sarah Browben. "Albus, your phoenix is covered in dust. Didn't you ask him to deliver your letter to Minerva in the hospital wing?"

"Yes, you called him to the infirmary, didn't you?" Headmaster LaCroix asked from the next frame.

Everyone turned to gawk at the phoenix sitting on his perch. Fawkes ruffled his feathers; dust sparkled and sprinkled on the floor.

"Minerva, were you the only one to read my letter?" The headmaster had his profile to the teachers, so he could watch his phoenix instead of the angry glares of his staff and students.

"I read it to everyone," she replied, touching her mouth, piecing the clues together.

"Did anyone else touch it?"

Severus said, "I did."

"That is all?"

No one else said anything.

"Aurora, you and Sybill are the youngest. You didn't touch the letter?"

"We both coughed," Aurora said in her sweet, sixteen-year-old voice. Her eyes were big and blue, and her skin hadn't a single blemish.

"Are you saying your bird kicked up the dust and it got on us?" Severus asked, growing impatient with the slow dissemination of information.

"Yes, it seems that Fawkes is covered in the dust that cured me," Albus said. The teachers stiffened.

"Not all of us were affected," Fleur said from Ginny's side.

"You all have magical creature blood," Hermione explained from the back. "Hagrid is half-giant, Professor Flitwick is part goblin, and Fleur's grandmother was a Veela. I doubt whoever made that powder intended to use it on half-creatures."

"That's brilliant, Hermione," Ron said. Lavender's lips thinned, as they always did when Ron gave Hermione praise.

"I assume the people who are the youngest were the ones directly exposed to the dust," Dumbledore postured.

Severus pinched the space of skin between his eyes. "When will it wear off?"

The benevolent old man shrugged. "I don't know."

Severus's fists clenched. Minerva put a hand on his arm.

"I can say that it _will _wear off. The only way to maintain this age is to undergo intravenous infusions of the liquefied version of the dust."

"Intravenous?" Neville asked.

"Doesn't that mean you get hooked up to a straw?" Ron asked Hermione.

"It's a Muggle thing," Hermione said slowly. "It's odd that a wizard would know it."

Dumbledore looked his brightest student in the eye.

"So, we can fix this?" Aurora asked.

"No. You can only wait for it to wear off." Dumbledore looked nonchalant.

"We don't _wan_t to stay this way!" Aurora said. "Professor Snape, can't you do something?"

"Perhaps if I had some of the dust—"

Aurora glared at the bird. Fawkes drew back.

"Albus," Aurora said, her voice dangerous. "Give Severus that bird." Her sixteen-year-old temper was coming out.

"Hold on there, Aurora," Rolanda said. "I like being this way. I bet I'm not the only one, either."

Pomona and Walter nodded.

Minerva didn't care either way. Severus, Septima, and Aurora wanted to change back. Sybill was too little to understand what was going on.

"I wonder how long it will take to wear off," Hermione muttered into her hand.

Professor Wrinkle stumbled forward, fell to his hands and knees.

"Walter!" Septima cried. Madam Pomfrey rushed to his side.

Everyone drew back with a gasp. Professor Wrinkle had returned to his age of eighty-seven.


	14. Tarnished

CHAPTER FOURTEEN—Tarnished

.

The students were set to arrive tomorrow evening and Severus was still twenty-years-old. He fastened the last three buttons at the top of his frock coat before grabbing his scroll of notes off his desk. As he stepped into the hallway, frigid air from deeper dungeon corridors sounded like a moan.

He now had a long walk from his rooms to the Great Hall for lunch. He read over his copy of Septima's notes.

An occasional rune was scrawled in a different hand. _Walter must have worked with her on these,_ he thought.

Severus couldn't decide if Walter was lucky to be back to his normal state or if he had been gypped of some second chance at youth. Severus didn't particularly want to relive his younger years, but he would admit, reluctantly, that he felt healthy. He could rotate his head properly, stretch his back without shooting pains. The frequency of his headaches had decreased as well. But that might be attributed to the decreased amount of teeth-grinding, which would be attributed to a decreased amount of Death Eater gatherings.

The young professor clenched his eyes shut. He tried to remember a Death Eater meeting but he could only remember being branded with his Dark Mark.

_Perhaps that is something better left un-remembered,_ he thought as he sighted the gray stones of the dungeons giving way to the marble floor of the Entrance Hall.

He had his palm on the door to the Great Hall when he heard voices coming from behind. Severus turned to see the group of students descending the Grand Staircase.

_They're your students,_ he reminded himself. 'Mione walked between Luna and Longbottom. Ahead of them, Brown and Weasley stumbled awkwardly down the stairs, since his arm was around her shoulders. Miss Weasley was chatting with Minerva.

Severus walked into the Great Hall without waiting for them. A week ago, he had been asking Ron and Neville to get a book off the mantle for him; now he was using their surnames, aware that he gave Longbottom the shakes and Ron was not the first Weasley to spend Potions class doodling unflattering pictures of him. Brown had normally shown some respect.

_Things were easier a week ago._ But he had also been ignorant a week ago. He now knew why Neville wouldn't put together puzzles with him last week, and why Ron never wanted to talk about homework in front of _Sevvie_. It was because they despised him.

Putting up with the Potions professor now that they saw him building snowmen on the front lawn meant almost nothing. When he returned to his normal age, they would despise him again.

Severus took his seat at the Head Table, purposely keeping his thoughts on the male eighth-years instead of their older, female counterpart.

'Mione came in laughing with the group. Even Minnie was tittering, which had never been a common sight when Severus was a student.

_Should I become a student myself?_ he wondered. _'Mione is twenty and still a student. Weasley and Longbottom are past the age of majority now._

Severus ignored the colleagues taking their seats on either side. Ever since they had aged, the staff members had been sitting at the high table, each taking roughly the same seats every day. They hadn't discussed it, hadn't assigned seats. They just knew their customary spots.

Minnie would sit between Severus and Albus; Filius would sit on the headmaster's other side. If Aurora arrived before Fleur, she would sit next to Severus. Hagrid sat near the opposite end with Filch, Madam Pomfrey, and Madam Pince. Septima and Walter always sat together—Severus's brain always niggled when he saw young Septima with normal Walter. Unfortunately, Rolanda and Pomona took seats close enough to be in Severus's hearing-range every day. Sybill rotated between the eighth-years and Madam Pomfrey's care.

The students congregated at the end of the Gryffindor table, as far away as they could be from the Head Table. Hermione looked up at Severus and waited a bit for him to look up. Since he kept his head down, she gave up.

Aurora came in and caught up to Minnie's stride. The two passed the swing set, which had sat unused since the night the professors had metamorphosed. The Slytherin and Hufflepuff tables were still askew and would need to be righted before tomorrow.

Septima leaned across the table, barely visible over Albus's and Filius's white beards. "I hope those notes were legible, Severus."

He nodded, pouring a cup of coffee by hand instead of with magic. He was still a bit shaky in the non-verbal spells, and even worse when liquids were involved.

"I don't know why you three are so eager to return to normal," Walter chimed in over his cuppa. "Being young again was most exhilarating."

"I'm a sixth-year, now, Walter," Aurora said as she sat down. "Would you like to take your NEWTS again?"

Albus chuckled. "No one is retaking their classes or their NEWTS."

"What is the Ministry catches wind of this?" Minerva straightened the front of her green jacket. "They may not be so carefree about our lack of education."

"If they haven't found out about it by now, they won't."

"The students are coming back tomorrow," Minerva stressed.

"They're going to have a field day," Aurora said, tossing up her hands and slumping in her chair. "And with the Prophet nearby…"

Dumbledore reminded her, "Reporters are not allowed within the school."

Severus watched Albus's wrinkled hands grasp a knife and fork to slice his steak. The headmaster hadn't been able to do that for months. Whatever dust he had used had cured him completely of the Dark Lord's curse.

Severus couldn't think of anyone, short of Dumbledore or Nicolas Flamel, who could draft such a spell.

Aurora leaned closer to see if Severus had jotted anything down on Septima's notes. The three had been working, along with Fleur and correspondence with Bill, to figure out a counter spell. Fleur, Hagrid, and Poppy had held Fawkes down to scrape all the dust off his plumage. Albus had apparently needed to feed the distressed bird several bags of cinnamon candies to earn forgiveness after such trauma.

"I feel rather useless," Aurora sighed. Her head hung limp above her porridge. Minerva set down her silverware in empathy. "The stars aren't very helpful in figuring out who cursed us, or how to fix it."

"We can worry about who did it later," Minerva said.

Aurora leaned over Severus. "If we knew, we could just ask them to fix it!"

"Who is to say they know how to reverse their own work?" Severus murmured. Thankfully he remembered how to soothe his rattled Slytherins—quiet tones and a reminder that other people couldn't be relied on to fix your problems.

Aurora crossed her arms and pouted.

"Snape has already started to upset the young ones," Hooch sniggered as she walked behind the dark-haired trio. "Perhaps he'll find other people to haunt besides the young witches, eh?" She nudged Sprout in the ribs.

Severus glared at her, his eyes more acidic than the snake bite that had ravaged his neck. Aurora slammed her chair back, about to jump to her feet. Severus grabbed her wrist beneath the table, then quickly withdrew—Hooch didn't need any more fodder for her ridiculous accusations.

Dumbledore gazed at them all, nothing stronger than a frown for rebuke.

"It appears the least matured of us are the least qualified to teach," Severus remarked to Minerva without removing his eyes from the Quidditch referee. "We can only hope the students don't get confused as to who is an adult and who should be counted among their peers."

Hooch scowled at them all before turning up her nose. Sprout didn't turn towards Severus, but kept her chair angled away.

The snub coupled with Pomona's continued fear spawned a vicious hate in Severus's guts, so much so that it bubbled up Severus's esophagus; he didn't think he could swallow coffee. He poured over the notes alone, Aurora sitting pin straight and red-faced in her chair, Minerva grinding rashers between her teeth so that she wouldn't hiss.

* * *

Ron held up his goblet of pumpkin juice. "Let's have a toast—to our final term at Hogwarts!"

The five Gryffindors and lone Ravenclaw held up their tea cups and glasses. "Graduation!" Ginny said.

"Graduation!" the rest repeated.

"Neville's gonna apprentice at one of the _million_ apothecaries begging to take him," Ron sniggered.

"And Luna's going to put that horrid _Skeeter_ out of business," Hermione added.

Ginny pointed her goblet across the table. "'Mione's gonna work for Harry while I score goals at the World Cup."

Ron elbowed her, laughing despite Ginny's very serious career choice. "Aurory, here I come."

"Lavender will supply either love potions," Neville chuckled, "or all the lipstick Hogwarts can hold."

Lavender blushed, still convinced her idea to make perfumes and eye shadows was silly.

"I can't wait to get out," Ron said, stretching his arms above his head. "It's been a long eight years, let's put it that way."

"I think we'll miss it," Hermione said.

"No doubt," Neville agreed. "But it will be nice to do something, make some galleons."

"How was yesterday's lesson, 'Mione?" Ginny asked. She spread butter on her toast.

"Oh, you know." She shrugged. "Enlightening."

She hadn't turned into an animal, but she had observed the new—or was it old?—Minerva McGonagall at work. It was…different.

Halfway through the three-hour lecture, Minerva forgot how to explain the feeling of fur sprouting between her skin cells. She became flustered when she couldn't put into words how bones melted into one another and her spine shrunk, so she kept changing back into a cat, trying to seek out what to say.

'Mione was also able to distract the professor with questions on how it felt to age almost twenty years over night—Professor McGonagall was never one to digress.

_It must be something an educator grows-out of,_ Hermione thought, looking at the Head Table again. Severus grabbed Professor Sinistra's hand under the table. At least, that's what it looked like. Hermione blinked; Professor Sinistra was glaring down at her bowl and Severus was reading his parchment again.

_That was…odd_, she thought.

Minerva, Severus, and Aurora sat in a row, their hair varied shades of black. The three could be siblings. _Or one of them could be his wife_, her brain muttered.

Minerva wasn't too worried about returning to her real age. "_Walter put himself to rights soon enough, I suppose,"_ she had said. But then she looked in the mirror on the wall. She gave her reflection a sad smile. "_I must look like a fool, though. An old lady that looks like a lass_."

Fleur stood by the swing set and waved the group over.

"Welp, looks like we should do that before we stuff ourselves anymore," Ron said as he got up.

"Where are we putting it again?" Neville asked. "The Room of Requirement?"

Luna said, "I think it's going in the room next door."

"Let's take off ze swings so zey don't get tangled around anyzing," Fleur said as soon as they walked up. She flicked her wand, unhooking the metal chains from the top bar. Ron and Neville clutched them in their arms, surprised at how heavy the seat and coils were.

Ginny and Luna held the wooden bench swing between them. Professor Flitwick charmed the doors open from his seat at the Head Table. Hermione levitated the swing set off the ground. Fleur levitated the benches and tables out of the way and lead them to the next room over.

"I wonder if we should let ze first-years play on ze swings, put zem outside," Fleur said as the six trotted past.

"Then everyone will want to play on them," Neville huffed, looping the metal chain around his arms again so he wouldn't trip. "We don't have nearly enough to satisfy everyone."

"It will be just another Hogwarts secret some _trouble-makers_ will find," Ginny snickered to Luna and Hermione.

"Let's keep it a secret," Hermione said. She had made some interesting memories on this plain, chrome swing set. She would hate for it to be smudged and scuffed by people being too careless with it. "At least until we graduate."


	15. Adjusting

A/N: Sixth and Seventh year students studying advanced potions are lumped into the same class time because there are so few of them from each house. (If we assume there are an average of 40 new students a year [10 for each house], and 7 years [70 students per house] and 4 houses, that means there are only 280 students at Hogwarts in a school year. Which also means there are less than 300 people in Hogwarts in total—and that's a pretty small junior/high school).

And that's about as much math as I can do in a week. Happy reading! -Bette Noire

* * *

CHAPTER FIFTEEN—Adjusting

.

The staff members sat in their normal places for Sunday's dinner, all except Madam Pomfrey who was watching Sybill. Firenze never came to the Great Hall to eat.

Hermione and the others kept glancing at the staff table, bracing themselves, as were the teachers, for the return and reaction of the student body. Hermione was worried about Professor McGonagall and Sev—Professor Snape. Not to mention Professor Sinistra was younger than Luna!

Professor Dumbledore looked cheerful. Minerva's face held her usual no-nonsense stoicism, but she was stunning to look at. Her shining black hair sat pinned to her head like a crown. She, Severus, and Aurora sat in a row, white-haired Dumbledore on one end and platinum-haired Fleur on the other. Severus tried to keep up his haughty façade, but Hermione could tell he was uncomfortable. He didn't like people paying attention to him.

The normal-looking staff members glanced at their cursed colleagues. Hagrid kept fidgeting—and when the half-giant fidgeted, everyone noticed.

The doors flung open. Children crowded in.

Severus began a conversation with Minerva. Pomona covered her face and talked to Rolanda. Rolanda kept her chin raised, proud to show off her fit, young body.

Neville and Hermione watched the hall, waiting for someone to notice. The first was a Ravenclaw. The fifth-year nudged her friends and pointed to Dumbledore.

Astoria Greengrass was the first of the Slytherins. Professor Sinistra kept her face down.

Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs realized something was off at the same time. Students stood from their seats to get a better view of the staff table.

Dumbledore's benevolent smile made a few children look back to their food, but only for a moment.

"What's wrong with them?" Dennis Creevey asked, angling his camera towards Professor Vector. "Are those our professors?"

"What's going on?"

"Are they…younger?"

"Look how pretty Professor McGonagall is!"

"This is too bizarre!"

"How come Weasley, Hagrid, and Flitwick look the same?"

"Is that Professor Snape?" Girls were staring. The pitch of the crowd grew higher.

"Minerva, I want to leave," Severus muttered. He would not turn his face towards the chattering students.

"If you leave, it will just be worse."

"We have to sit it out," Aurora added.

Pomona leaned across Dumbledore and Flitwick. "This was a bad idea. They won't listen to us!"

"We need to show them our minds are still the same," Dumbledore said, the same annoying smile on his face.

Severus, Minerva, Pomona, and Filius looked to Aurora.

"I am perfectly capable of teaching a class," Professor Sinistra said through clenched teeth.

"I'm more concerned about Hooch," Snape muttered to McGonagall.

"She doesn't have that many classes," Minnie murmured back.

"Not to mention they're rather inconsequential," Aurora sniffed. "As long as none of the students fall off their brooms."

* * *

**Monday**

Hermione, Ron, and Ginny sat in the courtyard to watch the firsties practice flying. It was something of a disaster. No one had gotten hurt, physically—their eleven-year-old pride, however, might have lost some vivacity.

Rolanda had claimed "Quidditch is a taxing sport—one needs to be physically fit to stay on a broom" and then had the children race her around the courtyard. Those hoping to try-out for the Quidditch team next year ran the circuit several times but no one could beat Hooch, who exercised daily but now had the energy of a much younger woman.

"Think we can beat her?" Ginny murmured to her brother.

Ron pulled his hat lower on his ears. "I don't think we should encourage her. She might keep this up all term."

.

Luna sat alone in the back corner of the room, watching her fellows take notes. The boys were being unusually attentive today. Her house was always attentive, but now even the Hufflepuffs were stepping up their game, raising their hands at every question instead of deferring to the Ravenclaws.

Professor McGonagall bade them answer the questions at the end of the chapter. A Hufflepuff wizard asked, "How was your holiday, Professor?"

McGonagall turned from the blackboard. Setting the eraser down, she said, "It was interesting, to say the least. Thank you for asking."

"Anytime, Professor," the boy said with a grin. When the Transfiguration teacher resumed erasing her scribbles, the Hufflepuff and his friends bumped fists.

"What did you do for the break, Professor?" a Ravenclaw asked.

Minerva chuckled. Luna grinned in her corner; the professor kept her smiles to a minimum. It was nice to see them once in a while.

"I spent the holiday here, keeping the eighth-years' company." Her spry fingers rested on her chin. "I also flexed my creative muscles, as it were."

The class leaned forward, their eyes begging for more information. "Your…transfiguring creative muscles?" one girl prompted.

"No. The artistic ones," she chuckled.

Everyone looked at each other and shrugged.

.

Neville joined his friends at the Gryffindor table after a long first day of spring term. Students were still gawking at the Head Table. It was kind of a shock, Neville figured, seeing their professors look suddenly young.

Neville turned a Remembrall shade of red; he still couldn't get the first time he saw young McGonagall out of his mind. Even when she returned to normal he doubted he could look her in the eye. Which might put a crimp in his Herbology-apprentice plans, should he choose to further his study at Hogwarts.

"How goes it, Neville?" Lavender asked. She cut her steak into careful squares; Ron hacked away mouth-sized pieces.

"Well enough." He found a seat between Hermione and a fourth-year. "I found Professor Sprout crying today, though."

"What?" Hermione, Ginny, Lavender, and Ron exclaimed. The group of fourth-years eavesdropped—anything they could hear from the eighth-years might shed some light on what happened to their professors over the holiday.

"I guess a bunch of people kept asking what happened to her and it stressed her out."

"What _did_ happen to her?" the fourth-years asked.

Ginny leaned back from the bench so she could see over Neville and Hermione. "Hey, mate, private conversation." Ginny motioned for the boys to turn back to their meals. They did so, grudgingly.

"This is all just batty," Lavender fretted. "I wonder how Sybill is doing."

Ron patted her hand. "Don't worry, love, Madam Pomfrey would let you know at the first sign of trouble."

"But she must be bored, up there with nothing to do in Madam Pomfrey's office," she pressed.

* * *

**Tuesday**

Hermione took her seat next to Luna in the Advanced Potions lab. Ron and Lavender set up behind them, Neville and Ginny in the row ahead.

"How do you think this is gonna go?" Ginny asked. She set all of her knives and stirring rods out on her table space.

"If the new seating arrangements are any indication, I think it's going to be hilarious," Ron chimed in.

A horde of girls had claimed the rows closest to Professor Snape's desk.

"He may be younger and fitter, but he's only ever really nice to the other professors. And 'Mione," Lavender said. "Those girls are hopeless."

Luna said, "He's been nice enough to me."

At precisely 3:00 PM, the class quieted and Professor Snape strode in, his robes billowing as they always had.

Every set of eyes followed the professor, some eyes trained a little lower on his back than usual. He raised his hand as he passed in front of the chalkboard—his legible scrawl appeared. Hermione did some quick math—they were to use the larger cauldrons for whatever they were making.

With a twist of his fingers he levitated a burning candle from the brass candelabra near his storage room. He set the candle in the middle of his desk, the wax sealing it in place.

He said, "Extra points will be given for aesthetic appeal." Then he sat down, scowling at the class until they began working.

_So we're supplying Everlasting Candles for the whole school then_, Hermione thought.

"Still a bit of a git," Ron muttered, frustrated with the lack of information. "How many are we gonna make?"

"Figure it out," Hermione hissed over her shoulder. "This is the _advanced_ class, after all."

Clusters of whispers cropped up during the next thirty minutes. Professor Snape's glares only quieted one group at a time and never for very long. Halfway through the class period, he shoved himself from his desk to prowl between the rows of cauldrons.

Everyone turned to examine the young professor as he passed. The Ravenclaws were impressed; the Slytherins each had an air of pride to see their representative looking so good. And the bravest—or perhaps, the brashest—blushed and batted their eyelashes.

The giggling grew steadily louder and the professor's jaw clenched tighter.

Severus stopped behind Lavender and Ron. "Measure carefully, Mr. Weasley."

Ron flinched before turning around. Professor Snape hadn't sneered—it was advice. "Er, yes sir."

A few more "_Cut away from your body, not towards it_" and "_Read your instructions again before you add that_" set female fingers purposely fumbling.

Luna chuckled; the professor had to stop every few metres to help a new student.

"He is going to blow his top soon," she whispered to Hermione.

Hermione bit her lip but couldn't let her focus wander. The wax was hot but would cool quickly once she dipped in the wicks.

A sixth-year stopped the professor, asking why his wax wouldn't work.

"Did you try the charm?" he asked, attempting to hide his exasperation.

"Oh. Sorry, sir." He looked down, afraid of rebuke. But the professor moved on to the next question—the sixth-year gave a relieved sigh.

Hermione molded her candles into a normal candle shape, since the one attempt she made at artistry resulted in a crooked mess. She Banished it before Severus could see it. Ginny snickered at her.

Luna's candles were the prettiest in the class; Hermione had always suspected Luna was something of an artist. Lavender's weren't too bad either.

Neville hissed, "Oy!" and jerked his head towards the front. "Someone's about to get it!"

The professor had his fists clenched at his sides. He stood, a black pillar, in the center of the room, glaring at a group of girls from the Hufflepuff Quidditch team.

"Perhaps," he said, his silken voice as quiet as Hermione's first day of Potions class eight years ago, "if you would stare at your cauldron and not at me, you would have realized the fire was not hot enough to melt the wax."

He put his palms flat against their table, leaning forward. All the girls in the row sucked in a breath.

"You have two minutes before the bell rings. I suggest you hurry up." He glared at the rest of the row. "All of you."

Severus flicked his wand at his storeroom. A stack of boxes hovered out of the door to land at everyone's feet. The final instructions written on the board were _Carefully stack the candles in your box _and_ Label it with your name, the number of candles, and the date._

Ron passed his quill around to the group. "This has been a pretty good Potions class, if I say so myself," he commented. Ginny scrawled her name and handed Ron's quill to Neville.

"It's not over yet," Lavender griped. The professor stood with his hand on the doorknob, his deep black eyes now crackling with a dangerous intensity at the teenagers. Everyone shifted uncomfortably in their seats, their candles packed away and cauldrons Scourgified.

Professor Snape said, "It is unfortunate I have returned from the holiday to find my _Advanced class_ replaced with bumbling idiots."

The bell rang but nobody moved.

"Twenty points from every house."

The class groaned and gasped and glared.

"Perhaps if you do better tomorrow you'll earn them back." Snape's eyes swept across the room but he didn't make eye-contact with anyone. He jerked open the door. "Get out."

The class herded into the hall. "I changed my mind," Ron grumbled to Neville. "Once a git, always a git."

Hermione hefted her heavy box into her arms even though her classmates had all left their candles at their desks. "Where would you like me to put this, sir?" she asked Professor Snape.

He looked half-scandalized. "Don't call me sir," he snapped, stalking out of the room.

Hermione left the box on his desk. She found him in his office, sitting in the student chair again. "So." Hermione put her hands on her hips. "How was your day?"

"As awful as any other day." He was glaring a hole through the back of his office.

"Your continual optimism always sets my heart aflutter."

"I don't _want_ to set hearts aflutter—I'm here to teach."

Hermione shut the door. "From what I saw, you were doing both," she teased. _And it was bloody annoying to watch those girls swoon over you._

"I haven't had this problem for ten years," he muttered, chin in his hand, one leg crossed over the other. "I loathe being so young and inept—not to mention being the youngest male on staff."

Hermione took a seat, trying not to laugh at Sevvie's "plight." "Yes, it must be horrid to be wanted by so many people."

"Hmph. I don't want to be wanted."

"Everyone wants to be wanted."

"Not by twelve-year-olds."

Hermione laughed. _I'm not twelve-years-old—quiet, you!_

He looked away, watched his fiddling hands. "Perhaps being liked isn't awful."

_I like you! _Hermione internally screamed._ I like you more than all those twelve-year-olds combined._

"I suppose the fervor will die down once I return to normal." He looked sad about it, despite having claimed being liked was unnecessary.

_It's wrong of me to hope for that too._ "Maybe."

He looked in her eyes. Hermione prayed he wasn't reading her mind. He asked, "How bad was my class today?"

"Now there's a question I never thought I'd hear."

He nearly groaned.

"I thought you handled the distractions tactfully."

"Tactfully, eh?"

"Very."

"Had I ever been tactful before?"

"Er…pass."

The stoic wizard laughed. "I apologize—I will stop my complaining."

"No, no, get it all out." She pulled her chair closer. "I'm here to listen."

"No, it's annoying. I would never listen to someone complain about their popularity."

"But I would." She smiled and put her fists beneath her chin.

Hesitation was all over his face.

"Go on," Hermione prodded. "What did you do today? What else happened?"

"The usual, I suppose."

Hermione's raised eyebrow intimated she was not pleased with that simple answer.

"I…caught Peeves taunting Mrs. Norris. I Stunned him."

Hermione giggled and encouraged him to continue.

"I really didn't do much else, aside from teach and run from…people."

"From witches."

"_Children_."

"Some of your students are adults," she laughed.

"Yes, about five of them."

Hermione wanted, badly, to change the subject. "Well, there's nothing I can do to convince you to stop being miserable."

"Can anyone take on such a task?" He had a jaunty, crooked grin.

"I'm _trying_ my hardest," she teased.

"I can't fathom why." Severus mimicked her pose, put his chin on his palm.

How is it that boys could make disinterest look so good?

"Perhaps I like a challenge." They were so close Crookshanks wouldn't be able to squeeze between their noses.

"Your kindness is fascinating. But," he continued, withering, "I know it is undeserved."

In the space of four seconds, the playful, flirtatious air had been shot-putted out of the room.

"I wish you wouldn't think like that."

"Do you believe wishes come true?" His too-dark eyes were prying her open.

"Sometimes. But not because we wished for them."

"Just checking." The slightest trace of humour passed over his lips. Someone knocked on the door; the two straightened their postures. Minerva came in without Sev's reply.

The first thing she said was: "The students are all in a tizzy. They're breaking rules, thinking their heads of house are too dim-witted to catch them—not to mention they want to know what happened to us and where Sybill is." Minerva paced the room, her skirts swishing like a tail.

Severus perched on the edge of his desk so that Minerva would sit down and stop stomping around his office. Minerva ignored it.

"They were courteous to me, but rather rowdy with Septima—and did you hear about Pomona? She's in a right state. Rolanda's challenging every student she runs across to every sport she's ever heard of—except Quidditch, of course!"

Severus gave Hermione a deadpan look which she returned. While Minerva listed her grievances, 'Mione and Sev ran their silent commentary with their eyebrows.

They thought Minerva hadn't noticed; on a return circuit, she grabbed Sev by the ear.

"You're just as bad as them!" she chided, "not paying attention while I talk!"

"I'm sorry, did you say something? A crazed harpy appears to have latched onto my ear."

She let go with a huff and sat down with a huff. Hermione laughed at their antics, wondering if this was how their interactions used to be, before she started Hogwarts.

Severus rubbed his ear. "Am I still in one piece?" he asked.

Minerva crossed her arms and legs. "You deserved it, young man."

Hermione watched them parry. Sev's lips curled around words so elegantly. Instead of the rigid posture in the potions lab, he looked comfortable, slouching on his desk and conversing with a colleague. Hermione liked looking at him, always had. Watching his long black cloak unfurl was fascinating, his lean legs striding with purpose.

One of his pale hands rubbed his neck where his scar used to be. Those thin fingers distracted Hermione until she heard a timid knock at the door.

Hermione chastised herself, and the knock gained confidence and volume. Minerva charmed the door open from her seat. Hermione giggled at the annoyed look Severus gave her.

Aurora Sinistra trembled in the doorway. She wrung her hands and one of her dainty feet tried to drill a hole in the floor.

"Professor Snape—"

"Severus."

"Severus," she corrected, stepping further into the room.

"What's wrong?" Minerva asked.

Aurora exploded into tears. "I can't do this!" She covered her face. The head of Slytherin jumped to his feet. "I can't—they're all horrid!"

"Try to compose yourself," Severus muttered, his hand on her shoulder.

Hermione was fascinated by the Slytherin interaction. Their methods of comforting were so _formal_.

Aurora sniffled in as much air as she could. Red sacks puffed up under her blue eyes. "I'm—I'm—sorry."

"No need to apologize." He led her to the only chair left in the room and bade her sit. "You need only tell me the problem. Calmly."

Professor Snape sat on the edge of his desk, across from Aurora and without invading any of her personal space. All of his attention was focused on his student/colleague.

"I—I—these students—they're so horrible!"

"True," Severus remarked. Hermione would have snorted, if Aurora wasn't still crying.

"What did they do?" Minerva asked.

"So many—all the—_wizards_—well, perhaps not all of them—"

"Were they being forward with you?" Severus's thin fingers dug into his arms.

Aurora nodded, covering her face again. Sad-pitched keening noises snuck between her fingers. She bent forward, almost double. "I'm s-so _ashamed_!"

Professor Snape knelt before his former student. "You've nothing to be ashamed of. You've done nothing wrong."

"I should have stopped them. I must have done something to attract their attentions—"

"It is not your fault you have a pretty face," Severus said. Aurora's tear-sparkled eyes looked up. Hermione lost all the air in her lungs. The two of them were face to face, reacting to one another like a rose to the sun. "The only thing you can change is your reaction to these nasty little children."

"But…Professor…"

"Severus."

"Severus…some of them are…older than me."

"So?"

Professor Sinistra had a silent epiphany, a moment of resignation. She gave a short nod. "Thank you, Professor."

"Severus," he reminded in good nature. He nearly smiled at her as she stood up, he still on one knee.

Hermione was jealous.

Aurora smiled over her shoulder as she left through the door. "I'll try to remember."

This was the first time Hermione wished she had been sorted into Slytherin. Just for one man, to have one man's attention—bugger the fact nearly all her house-mates would have despised her.

Minerva asked, "You aren't going to help her?"

The Potions Master was confused. "I just did."

Hermione and Minerva traded looks—they did not understand the ways Slytherins communicated.


	16. January 9

A/N: You're all wonderful people, so have a wonderful day (after you read this chapter, of course). -BetteNoire

* * *

Chapter Sixteen: January 9

.

Exhalations condensed in the frigid dungeon corridors of Hogwarts. Students had to huddle close to their cauldrons during Potions class. But Professor Snape's office was warmer—not toasty, but warm enough Hermione didn't need gloves to do homework.

She sat across from Severus, he marking Potions essays, she revising her Transfiguration notes for the fifth time this week. Homework from the professors was thinning, since she aced every test they gave. (Not to mention they had a little age-problem to worry about.) At this rate, Professor Dumbledore would owl the ministry and request Hermione take her NEWTS early, which would be just fine for Hermione. Then she could focus on her Animagus training for the rest of the term.

_But then you wouldn't need to sit in Severus's class anymore_, her brain whispered. Hermione pulled her ponytail down then put it back up in a knot. Potions class was…different now. The air was still bogged with tension, but it was sexual instead of fearful.

She tried to read, but all she could think about was snippets of the past week. Ever since the teachers had regressed into younger versions, ties were loosened, buttons mysteriously disappeared, and skirts became almost non-existent. Boys flirted with Minerva and Aurora and every girl in school was lusting after the newly-youthful Severus Snape.

Hermione could now see the exact color and texture of every bra on every girl over the age of sixteen. Slytherins and Gryffindors were especially brazen.

Just this week Hermione had overheard Greengrass and another Slytherin wondering if Snape would be interested in a three-way. She found every variation of the phrase "he can be _my_ Potions Master," as annoying as the last. She frowned whenever she heard the blatantly randy comments and blushed when she fled the scene. It was bloody weird, hearing everyone talk about the boy she had cuddled and consoled less than a month ago.

He had been so cute and small, so open and adorable. Now he was tall and smoldering.

Her face turned red behind the book and her whole body burned when she remembered waking up, his arm draped across her waist, his nose pressing into her collarbone, his—

_Stop it! He's your teacher! He's 38-years-old! He is the one who said you had buggered up teeth! Do _not_ be like the other girls and become all silly around him!_

Thinking of Professor Sinistra was enough to quell the leaping fire in her belly. Every day someone commented on Severus and Aurora holing up in the dungeons.

Lavender thought their rumoured, impending nuptials were a "swell idea—they're both young and Slytherin—why not?"

Hermione just about kicked her under the dinner table, but held back.

Now she sighed, put down the book, and picked up the parchment with her notes scrawled even into the margins. She knew she oughtn't think of Severus in a sexual manner. But it was difficult to keep her mind on track when she was in a room full of blushing schoolgirls. Or anywhere near Severus.

_What would the other girls think? _she snapped at the libidinous part of her subconscious._ They'd say you're no better than them, pining after the fit young Potions Master._

And pine they did, every night and every day. Some of them remembered he was a Death Eater in-line with the Carrows—but as soon as they voiced that thought aloud another girl would come along and squash it, reminding them "Professor Snape was a spy, a brave man with love in his heart!" or some such drivel.

Hermione was guilty of associating Severus's good qualities with his love for Lily Potter, as if that was the only good thing about him. She knew different, after getting to know him. After brushing his hair and tucking him in…

Hermione didn't realize she was gazing off into space (or rather, at a very dull dungeon wall) or that Severus had finished marking and was watching her.

"What are you doing?"

She jolted in her rickety chair. "Revising."

Severus gave one of his rare, rakish grins. "Getting very far?"

"I was until you interrupted," she huffed, yanking the parchment from beneath his fingertips.

"I didn't realize my wall needed such intense study."

"Well that's why I'm going to be an Animagus and you aren't."

"Why would I want to rut around as some animal?" he taunted.

"I thought you were a bat?" Hermione taunted right back.

"I thought girls liked bats?"

"That's vampires."

"I've been called that too."

"I've heard."

"You're hurting my feelings." He tempered his intimidating gaze with a subtle grin.

"You're keeping me from revising."

"You'll live."

"How were the essays?"

"Boring, poorly written, uninspired." He leaned back in his chair. It looked somehow bigger around young Severus. "Except for one essay that was horrendously long, as if I could just devote _hours_ to only her report."

Hermione blushed. "Once a swot, always a swot, I suppose." She couldn't help wanting to impress Professor Snape. They looked at each other in silence for a few moments. He let her return to editing her notes for two minutes before he interrupted.

"Why were you the one to take care of me?" he asked.

Hermione let her quill stop scratching.

"I wasn't ever nice to you."

She angled her eyes up at him. "Nobody else wanted to do it."

He remained unperturbed. "I can imagine."

"I guess…I didn't think it would be fair, if all the other teachers got to have fun and you didn't."

"I can't imagine it would make much of a difference, in the long run." As a child, he had been so expressive; now, his face could hide what he was thinking.

Hermione could count his eyelashes, if she hadn't looked down. "Oh." She returned to revising.

Severus could tell that wasn't what she had wanted to hear. "I suppose you'll want me to be mean to you, once I return to normal."

"Ha, no, I don't think I'd want that at all." She sent him a small grin.

The two fell into silence again, Hermione studying human transfigurations and Severus studying Hermione.

She had an intent, but calm, atmosphere while revising or reading. The kind of calm that one didn't disturb lightly.

"You set me on fire, once," he said, wondering what reaction he could elicit.

Hermione gasped, her head whipping up from her book. "I—"

"And you stole Boomslang skin."

Her head was shaking from side to side, slight, jerky movements. "How did you know it was me?"

He shrugged.

"You blamed Harry for stealing your Boomslang skin—you could have just read his mind and found out he didn't do it!"

"Oh, please—do you think you would have stolen anything from anyone, let alone me, if it wasn't something Potter needed you to do?"

She narrowed her eyes; she didn't want to admit that he was right. She was amusingly stubborn.

"Teachers really do have eyes in the back of their heads," she grumbled.

"Why would I need eyes in the back of my head, when I have them in the front?" he asked, grinning, his posture victorious and smug.

"Oh shut up!" she laughed, lobbing her quill at him. He tucked her quill into his crossed arms. Hermione propped up her Transfiguration book, determined to ignore him.

"What did you need it for, precisely?"

"Polyjuice Potion," she replied without looking up.

His eyebrows twitched at her, acting lofty and amused. "Oh, I see. Is that why you turned into a cat?"

Hermione blushed a deeper red—nothing had been as mortifying as spending those days with black fur, of that he was sure. "Well, Harry and Ron turned out just fine—I only turned into a cat because Millicent Bulstrode was covered in cat hair!"

"All three of you drank a complicated potion brewed by a twelve-year-old in a broom closet?"

"We were in a lavatory, thank you very much."

Severus laughed despite the gravity, and absurdity, of three children brewing a long, arduous potion in a loo of all places. "That was incredibly dangerous."

"I had a great teacher," she joked, leaning forward.

"Ha ha," he drawled.

"_I_ think you're a good teacher."

"I have no doubt that teaching is not my forte."

Hermione shook her head, smirking, like she always did when he never gave himself enough credit. "I managed to brew Polyjuice Potion so well that Harry and Ron could sneak into the Slytherin common room and talk to Draco Malfoy—and no one knew it was them. Because you were such a good teacher."

"If you're such a daft hand at Potions, why are you training for Transfiguration?" He had one bent to his chest.

"Professor McGonagall is going to become headmistress, eventually, and she needed someone to replace her." She gave him a patronizing look. "And besides, you wouldn't have trained me—would you?"

He looked at the tattered textbooks on the shelves. "I probably would have—after many arguments with Minerva and Albus. I'm sure I would have been mean to you then, as well."

"Probably."

He narrowed his eyes at her before they both grinned. "Get back to your homework."

She peeked over her book. "What was it like?" she asked, quiet. "Being a child again?"

"That's an…odd question," he said, looking at Hermione's quill twirling between his fingers. "No. It's an odd answer, a perfectly normal question, given the circumstances. Everything—it's jumbled."

Hermione was listening to him, her brown eyes scrutinizing him.

"There's my first childhood. And then there's a new one that _seems_ like it should have happened at the same time, but couldn't possibly have done so."

"Did you enjoy it?" she probed. "Your second one?"

_Immensely_, he thought immediately. He had 'Mione to look after him, to care about him when the other ankle-biters had run away from him. "I suppose so," he said. Good thing there was only one Legilimens in the room. As a child, he had told Hermione his thoughts, let her know too much. That had to stop. His young, hormonal self was vulnerable, had been vulnerable to the Dark Lord's charm; he had barely survived such a frail stage of his life once. He would do better this time.

_You're not off to a good start_, he thought when he saw Hermione deflate a bit.

"So you remember the…Boomslang incident," she said. "Do you remember anything after that?"

"Such as?"

"Well…you hate me."

Severus cocked his head. "Why would I hate you?" She was—had been annoying in her younger days, he could remember that. She talked a lot (a habit that lingered in her essays) and was nosey (still). But the people he hated were nothing like Hermione.

She shrugged. "I'm afraid you'll," she hesitated, "return to normal and remember that you've never liked me."

_Normal_, he thought bitterly, staring at the stack of essays on his desk. _This is not your normal state. This is not you. It never has been. _A sudden weary loneliness inched into his bones. "I've never liked people," he hissed at the essays.

"You called me insufferable," she mumbled.

He looked up. The face on his skin and arms felt older. "Was that before or after you ran headfirst into danger, causing me to clean up the mess?" _Stop speaking to Hermione that way_! he snapped inside. His voice was much more harsh than it could have been five minutes ago, five days ago.

She let out a sigh mixed with a depreciative snort. "Both."

He could breathe again, when she smiled at him, even if it was a sad little grin.

"We weren't really easy on you, were we?"

Severus felt as if he had just run a marathon—his head was unbalanced and his lungs straining to fill up. Yes—he had called her insufferable in the middle of class, in front of all her peers. _I'll admit, that was hateful_, he thought. He shook his head in answer to her question.

"We never did thank you, for any of that. Or even for the _Lupin_ situation," she stressed delicately.

Severus cleared his throat. He never did like thinking about Lupin. Just being near the man made him nervous. Something tickled at the base of his spine—was Lupin…had Lupin died? He couldn't recall.

"Weren't you scared?" Hermione asked, barging into his brain space once more. "When he transformed," she clarified.

"That was not the first time I had met Remus Lupin as a werewolf."

Her eyes widened.

As usual, he didn't look at her directly. "Sirius Black had a wonderful sense of humor."

She looked horrified. "What do you mean?" she demanded as if she had sickening thoughts.

"I met him for the first time—which I had hoped would be the _only_ time—just a bit further on, in the tunnel under the Willow. In my sixth-year, I believe."

Hermione covered her mouth. "You could have died!" she sputtered.

Severus looked bored. "What if I had?" _Would that have been such a bad thing? Why are you thinking this way—you weren't so maudlin yesterday,_ he chastised, squeezing the frail quill in his fist.

"We would have been eaten by a werewolf! And Voldemort would be in charge right now!" Hermione said, fiery Gryffindor righteousness glowing. Severus was taken aback. "Who would have taught everyone Potions? Slughorn? I think not! If you had died, because of some horrible prank, Harry, Ron, and I would be dead!"

Severus had that annoying urge to kiss his student again. When had anyone ever said he was important? Never. Lucius had once told Severus he had always been helpful in "maintaining the Malfoy grade point average." Did that count? The Dark Lord had said Severus was one of his most important followers—but the Dark Lord said that to everybody.

Hermione still had one of her scarred hands on her mouth. Her eyes grew wet—and they wouldn't look away.

_Now you've made her cry._ 'Mione was too nice, so nice to him for no good reason. He wanted to kiss her.

All he had to do was walk around the desk, tilt her chin upwards and lean down, to kiss her like a hormone-driven teenager should.

But he didn't. Because he wasn't a teenager. He was her professor. Professors should not kiss students.

"Where is Lupin?" he asked instead.

She was confused. "He's…" She cut herself off.

_So I was right_. He held up his hand and looked away. _Just another thing I don't remember quite yet._

Severus took note of the time: 9:37. He didn't think war-heroines could get detention, but curfew was approaching. Hermione looked at the clock above the door as well. She rolled up her parchment and picked up her book.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said as she made her way to the exit. She turned back with the door halfway open. "And many happy returns." She had a very wide smile on her face.

The professor gaped. "How did you know that?"

She laughed, "I have my ways. Good night."

As she disappeared into the dark, dungeon hallway, Severus scrambled out of his chair, her quill in his hand. He clung onto the doorframe to keep from tumbling into the corridor. "'Mione!"

She turned back. Even in the dim light she was pretty.

He held up her quill. "You forgot this."

Hermione came back for it and reached out her hand; Severus pulled the quill out of her reach. "If you want it back, you have to give me a present."

Her mouth fell open. "Well that's a fine how-do-you-do!"

"Let's go swing," he said. Perhaps he should be more discreet, so near the Slytherin common room, but his birthday wasn't every day.

"Right now?" She clutched her book in a bewildered fashion.

"Think of it as humouring an old man on his birthday."

She smirked at him. "I don't think you're an old man quite yet."

He pulled the door shut, then offered his arm to escort her to the swing-set. Hermione giggled and acted exasperated. She blushed as much as Severus did, but they each covered it up by laughing.

"Do you know how old you are?" she asked as they traipsed towards the Entrance Hall.

He shook his head. "No idea." It didn't really bother him at the moment.

* * *

A/N: Someone should draw Severus and Hermione on the swing. Just sayin'. If you do, find me on tumblr so I can reblog your lovely fanart! :D


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